


Hermione Granger and the Cat from Beyond the End

by stormcorona



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Background Drarry, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Romance, F/M, Friendship, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Humor, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Romance, Ron Bashing, Slow Burn, Snape Lives, Suicidal Ideology, might be crack i honestly have no idea, pls no bully this is my first fanfic ever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 15:21:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 41
Words: 122,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21654745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stormcorona/pseuds/stormcorona
Summary: After the war, Hermione returns to Hogwarts and finds herself in the possession of an undead cat on a mission. Thank goodness, because there's a mysterious necromancer raising inferi from the corpses of the battle of Hogwarts, and as usual, Hermione and Harry find a way to dive head-first into danger. Not content to just risk their lives, the two of them must also face down new revelations about themselves will drive them away from old friends and closer to controversial figures - including one specific, beloved asshole in his flappy-flappy swooshy-swooshy robes.Severus is learning the meaning of the phrase 'no rest for the wicked.' Despite his best attempts, he's survived the war. Minerva keeps him employed (and blackmails him whenever he tries to quit), and he's got an Order of Merlin (which he keeps trying to throw in the lake), but he finds himself lacking in purpose. The worst part? There's this insufferable know-it-all chit trying to be helpful and friendly. Oh, and the necromancer. That guy's pretty bad, too.SS/HG. Drarry occurs as well. My first fic ever, pls no bully; I was just writing a little fluff but I got distracted by a plot-like object and I'm sorry.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Severus Snape
Comments: 542
Kudos: 731





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all! 
> 
> This is my first ever attempt at writing fanfic and I'm very nervous, especially becuase I'm accustomed to my own worldbuilding, where I can just pull whatever lore out of my ass. I apologize for anything being OOC and please be gentle! I would love feedback but I would also love to not cry LMAO <3
> 
> Special thanks to Zana, the eternally-patient and best asshole ever, who knows much more about HP lore than I do and was kind enough to put up with all of my insufferable, endless questions. Couldn't have done it without you, so if anyone wants to know who to blame for allowing this monstrosity to be unleashed upon the world, talk to Zana.

There were few things in the world worse than losing a beloved pet. The timing could not have been worse, either. 

Crookshanks passed away just as Hermione’s final year at Hogwarts was ramping up to be a hell of a show. That grief, on top of everything else, nearly toppled her. Her beloved Crooks, who had been a fixture in her life despite the chaos of the Second Wizarding War, wouldn’t be there at her side to see the end through. 

Maybe that was why, after the fighting was over, as everyone else gathered their loved ones to the castle to mourn, Hermione found herself walking the field. 

Death was everywhere: the bodies and destruction everywhere she turned her gaze, polluting even the sky with a sickly red light; the sticky sweet smell of rot that suffused her lungs; a bloody metallic pang that swamped her tongue and mixed with the nausea in her gut; distant moans and hacking coughs of the dying. She could practically feel the decay hanging in the humidity of the wind. 

Hermione kept her wand close, but as she moved between the bodies, she realized she needn’t have worried. Those on the ground were hopeless. The further in she went, the more the sensation of death cloistered around her like static electricity. 

She couldn't save them, but she couldn’t leave them, either. She started with a man who looked like he might be related to the Lestranges, but Hermione found that she cared little at this point. He reached for her, and she took his hand, which he squeezed feebly. She could see the faded Dark Mark on his forearm. One of his eyes was nothing more than a bloody pulp, destroyed by a cutting curse. The one that was remaining stared at her, pleading. She could see fear there, an echo of her own eyes whenever she’d looked in the mirror for the past however many years. 

“It’s alright,” she said, and he squeezed her hand again. “I’ll stay with you.”

And she did. She stayed until he spluttered, and blood oozed out of his mouth. Then he shuddered, rasped, and his eye unfocused. At some point, a point that she couldn’t remember, she began to sing. Little things, just nursery songs and whatever else came into her head, but something soft and loving. She wasn’t sure what possessed her to do it. She wasn’t even sure it helped. But she needed something besides just the endless rasps and whistling of the bloody wind. 

It was when she arrived at the Shack that she realized that she’d been blazing a trail to it. She looked out behind her, at the dead that she had tended to, her hands sticky with their drying blood. 

Snape, she realized. Snape deserved… well, a lot more than he’d gotten. 

She pushed open the door. Maybe a day ago, or even a few hours ago, she would’ve flinched at the atmosphere within. But she couldn’t now. Instead she just walked forward, and kneeled beside his head like she had all the others. 

He was pale and unmoving. At a different time she could’ve joked about how he looked dead long before death decided to make his acquaintance. It was when she reached for his head that she hesitated. She could’ve sworn she felt his breath ghosting over her hand. 

Was she hallucinating?

She certainly could be. Bloodloss. Trauma. Sleep depravation. Starvation. Hermione could easily list six dozen reasons she was hallucinating. But something else, something deeper, pushed her to check more closely. She leaned in, tightened her hair into a semblance of a bun, and checked his pulse with one hand. The other hand used her wand to cast a diagnostic charm. 

Weak pulse. Shallow breathing (if at all). But what struck her was how little he’d bled. Nagini’s wound was right over major blood vessels, and she’d sworn there was blood at the time of the attack, but… 

Light flared from her wand as the results of the charm appeared in the air. 

“He’s alive,” she realized aloud. Her heart tripped over something and stumbled in her chest. Of course, Snape was bloody brilliant. Maybe he’d used a potion or draught or something, she didn’t know, she had to _act_ and not _think--_

Lifting her wand, she pointed it back towards the castle, focused, briefly, hurriedly, on the rushing joy of realizing Harry was alive. _“Expecto Patronus.”_

The wand sputtered with light. Another try, and nothing. 

“Fuck!” It was _always_ the bloody patronus. Hermione could feel adrenaline pushing through her veins like fire. She’d thought her body had already produced all of the panic it could. Of course she’d failed when it was most needed. 

No, she thought, not yet. Not while there was a chance of something living out of this bloody nightmare. She lifted the wand, again, and took a deep breath, ignoring how it trembled, or how loud her breathing and heartbeat seemed, or the sudden tears. 

_Focus, Hermione. Focus like it’s the month before O.W.L.s._

She thought about all the people out there, all the people who weren’t on the field behind her, and about how they could live. She thought about the doors they’d opened. A world where maybe, someday, there’d be a little muggleborn girl that could go to Hogwarts and not know fear like she had. She thought about how Harry could have kids and it wouldn’t have to be anything out of the ordinary that they lived. 

She thought about how, _maybe,_ someone like Snape could have a future that wasn’t overshadowed by fascism and mistakes made when they were a dumb teenager, and that maybe, if he lived, he could finally be free. 

The otter sprang forth in a torrent of blue-silver. She ignored how much she felt like keeling over in relief, instead staring at the otter’s sparkling eyes. “Find McGonagall or Pomfrey. Snape’s alive. Hurry!”

Her patronus shot off towards the castle, so Hermione turned her wand to Snape’s wound and began to sing as she worked. _“Oranges and lemons, say the bells of St. Clement’s…”_


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The return to Hogwarts brings back memories, and also that one asshole in his swoopy-swoopy robes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also I just realized how completely irregular my chapter lengths are. I'm very sorry.

Hermione hadn’t got it in her to pick out another familiar. Ginny had suggested it, gently, with the offer that something fluffy and equally disgruntled might make her have an easier time. Not that she could ever replace Crooks, but Ginny had made a good point about hugging fluffy warm things. 

Instead, Hermione had focused on what she’d thought of in the Shack that day. The possibilities. The possibility of a future of peace. It would never be perfect, but maybe, it could be better and safer. 

Ron didn’t get it, but Harry did. She was a little surprised at first about his maturity, but apparently dying at least once had really made him mature quick. 

By the time they were on the train back to Hogwarts for their eighth year, Harry and her had testified multiple times in front of the Ministry court about multiple surviving Death Eaters. It was all the newspapers could talk about when Snape was exonerated.

He hadn’t been seen since the day he was released. 

It worried at her, but she didn’t know what else she could do, so she and Harry tried to continue encouraging the rebuilding efforts. They’d started working with Luna, of all people. Apparently the Lovegoods’ history in newspapers had given Luna a knack for public relations. Together, the three of them turned the Boy Who Lived (Twice) into a figure that the post-war world needed. Harry got accustomed to suits and talking about unity, Hermione deigned to wear blouses and pencil skirts and occasionally attempted to wrangle her lion’s mane of hair. 

Thankfully today they were just on the train, so Hermione was back in her uniform, which was way more comfortable, if only because she was used to it. Ron was out using the lav and Ginny was off visiting with some of the other girls when Harry gave her that look, the one that showed how tired he really was. 

“I’ll be glad to get away from the reporters for a while,” he said. Hermione suddenly noticed the bags beneath his eyes. She wasn’t sure if his demeanor had changed, or if he’d actually managed to glamour something. 

“Me too.” She nodded. “You deserve it.”

“We all do.” He rubbed at his face, staring out at the countryside rushing by. “Fucking bloody mess, we were supposed to get a break after the war.” He was silent for a moment, then laughed. “I’m almost looking forward to being back at school. Is this what it’s like to be you?”

Hermione managed a grin. “I’ll make a bookworm out of you yet, Potter.”

“Please don’t,” he said, still laughing. “I’m having enough difficulty just being Harry Potter right now.”

“The Boy Who Continues To Survive Despite All Odds?” she shot back with a giggle. 

Before he could retort, the door opened again and in tumbled two gingers. Ginny plopped down beside Harry and kicked her legs up into his lap, while Ron sat beside Hermione and looked expectantly at her, as if waiting for her to be the same. 

“I’ll pass,” she told him. “I’m not nearly as flexible as Gin.”

Ginny laughed, shaking her head. “You’re so silly, Hermione. Anyway, I just saw Hannah and Luna and Parvati and I think it’s good to have everyone back in one place! Even if we do have to go to school.” 

“At least you don’t have to repeat your last year, Gin,” Ron said, rolling his eyes and staring out the window. “Wish they’d just let us go on to Auror training.”

“Weren’t you thinking about applying for the Chudley Cannons?” Harry asked. “Another year’ll give you time for try-outs.”

“I’m not sure yet. If the Cannons’ll take me, that’s where I’m going.” Ron shrugged, and the talk turned to quidditch. 

Hermione was not big on sports, muggle or no, and so she decided instead to pull out her planner and open to the page designated for year-long goals. The list was very small, but she liked to review it, to keep herself focused on some sort of structure after the war. 

_Decide and apply for potions apprenticeship or mediwitch, or both (?).   
NEWTs.   
Memory potion.  
Survive. _

She traced her finger under the words ‘memory potion.’ That was her first goal. She wasn’t even sure it’d be possible. She’d had precious little time to read over the summer, and when she did, the texts had been contradictory or downright unclear. 

Unbidden, Snape’s voice came to her. _Ahh, Miss Granger, have you finally found something that you cannot learn from a book?_

Unconsciously, Hermione pressed her lips together, staring through her planner. Snape was maybe the one person that’d know if such a potion was possible, but she was absolutely certain he wasn’t going to be much pleased with her or Harry after the way they’d so openly defended him in trial. If he wanted to talk to her at all, she’d have to tread carefully so he didn’t realize she’d been involved in his recovery. McGonagall had insisted that Hermione not let him know that she was the one who saved his life. Everyone involved had been sworn to secrecy. 

Hermione hadn’t understood it at first, but after that first day at St. Mungo’s, she got a better idea. She and McGonagall had sat fidgeting in the lobby while the healers worked away in secret. Hermione had passed out on McGonagall’s shoulder, only woken up seven hours later. The healers had said Snape had potions on him that would save his life, but there were no traces that he’d taken them. He’d wanted to die. 

Instead, some little chit had made him survive, checked in every day while he was unconscious, exposed his most private secrets to the world, and kicked him into the status of ‘war hero.’ 

Merlin’s balls, if he figured it out, Hermione was _so dead._ Thank goodness she didn’t even know where he was. She was certain he wouldn’t return to Hogwarts, not after all the hell he’d been through in the damn castle, and the tabloids spent much time speculating about where he could be. It’d present an issue if she needed to ask more of her _insufferable unending questions,_ but hopefully distance would keep her safe from getting hexed six ways to Sunday. 

When they reached the castle, the four of them stayed in a tight group as they were jostled by other students. There were plenty of “oooh”ing and “aaah”ing over the castle’s renovations, then much to-do as the older students headed to their towers to unpack their things. 

As Head Girl (because of course she was), she had her own room with an on-suite bathroom. She pulled her luggage out of her beaded bag, and set about methodically unpacking her things. When everything was complete, she paused to view her handiwork. 

Something wasn’t quite right. She couldn’t remember what, but the room felt incomplete. She opened the bag again, rummaging around. There was nothing missing, her luggage had all been empty when she’d packed them away. She looked around the room, trying to figure out where she’d gone wrong…

_Oh. _

What she was missing was a grouchy old orange cat, curled up at the foot of her bed. 

Hermione twirled her wand, setting an alarm for fifteen minutes, and sat down to have a cry. When her wand dinged with the end of the timer, she charmed away most of the evidence, twisted her hair into a ponytail, and headed downstairs to dinner. 

She paused by the door to the Great Hall, in an attempt to steel herself for whatever public scrutiny would make of her, then entered. 

The room’s volume hushed noticeably as she came in, and she could practically feel the eyes staring at her. The fight or flight response that had kept her alive while they were on the run was now screaming about how she _absolutely hated_ being the center of attention, and how she should _definitely run away,_ but she swallowed and took her seat beside Ginny at the Gryffindor table. 

Talk resumed, and Ginny gave her leg a sympathetic squeeze. They traded smiles. 

“I don’t know how you do it, Ginny,” Hermione sighed, rubbing at her temples. 

Ginny shrugged. “Practice, and the fact that my boyfriend’s pretty cute so it all evens out.” 

Hermione snorted, and their talk turned to Harry’s plans. He was probably going to join the Aurors, but was eager to work with Headmistress McGonagall to develop a better DADA curriculum so that their teachers would stop being so _fucking useless all the time. _

Apparently having kids fighting a war made some people sober up about their own regulations and safety procedures. (Sadly, those people did not include the Ministry.)

Ginny was just talking about how she was thinking of either following her brother into quidditch or looking into opening a clothing boutique when Harry practically jumped into the spot across from Hermione, startling both of them. His eyes were dark and worried. 

“Harry! You scared me!” Ginny yelped. 

“What’s wrong?” Hermione asked, leaning in. 

He grabbed at her hand. “I’ve heard rumors,” he said, voice shaking. “Snape’s back, he’s Potions Master, McGonagall invited him back.” 

Hermione froze. Well, there went all of her carefully concocted plans about distance. Instead, she would have to tread more carefully than usual in the Potions classroom. 

“That’s awful,” Ginny said. “He was awful to us, I wish she’d let him retire.” 

Harry and Hermione exchanged looks. He was the only other one who knew that it was her who saved Snape, not McGonagall. 

“People are going to boo him,” she realized aloud. Harry nodded. “How should we-?”

He ran a hand through his hair, tearing at the dark strands. “I have no idea. I have… no idea.” He looked around, towards the Ravenclaw table. “Merlin’s balls, Luna isn’t here.” 

Hermione took a deep breath, and licked her lips. “Let’s clap. Nothing special if there’s a normal response.”

Harry paused, then nodded emphatically. “Okay.” 

Ginny looked between them. “I… wasn’t he awful to you, Harry? Hermione?”

“Yeah,” Harry said. “But he also saved our lives. A lot… a lot of times.” 

“If people see The Boy Who Lived Twice applauding, they might think to treat him with dignity.” Hermione sighed. 

“He’s gonna hate it, you know that, right?” Ginny said, her ginger brows pulled together. “I can’t imagine he likes other people helping him.”

Hermione nodded. “But the alternative is--”

Ron slid into the table beside Harry. “Guys! I just got the schedule for the quidditch tryouts--”

Hermione took a deep breath as Harry and Ginny’s attention evaporated. Bloody quidditch. She looked up to McGonagall, who already sat at the head table. The Headmistress offered her a warm smile and a nod. Hermione barely managed a smile back. 

Once everyone was seated, McGonagall stood up to make the customary welcoming speech. Hermione couldn’t pay attention. She was too busy fixated on the staff behind the table. Flitwick, Sprout, Trelawny, Vector… there he was. 

He must’ve snuck in through the staff lounge. He looked… well, it was tough to tell at this distance, but she could tell that he looked pissed. That was expected and quite frankly if he looked anything but pissed, Hermione would’ve questioned whether or not this was real. 

Finally they were to the faculty introductions. Hermione glanced to Harry. 

“Everyone gets the same amount of applause,” she whispered, and he nodded. 

“Got it, boss.” He threw her a wink. It didn’t do much to soothe her nerves, but the thought was nice. 

McGonagall was going down the line of faculty, and Hermione watched out of the corners of her eyes as Harry carefully moderated his applause with her. Stupid, that they had to worry so much about such little things. But the world had decided they weren’t kids anymore, and now they had to think about stupid litlte things like how everyone would take their reactions. 

To her slight surprise and pleasure, Hermione noted that Ginny, too, was watching them and applauding just as they were. Her heart warmed a little. Maybe Ginny got it. 

McGonagall finished with Vector’s introduction and it was the moment of truth. Hermione wanted to pretend that her stomach wasn’t the most nauseous it’d been since that day on the battlefield. Even in court, it hadn’t been so bad. Maybe because court, despite its flaws, wasn’t made up of a bunch of hormonal, dumbass teenagers. 

“Next, I am honored to welcome back into the position of Potions Master, Professor Severus Snape. We are incredibly lucky that he has decided to rejoin us.” McGonagall beamed at the crowd in a way that said _‘fuck this up and I’ll skin you.’ _

Hermione swore she could’ve heard a charm drop, it was so silent. 

With a deep breath, she raised her hands, and began to clap. Not loudly, not obnoxiously, just a light smatter of applause. Harry and Ginny joined her. After a few moments, she realized that two other people had also joined in: Luna and Neville. Everyone else was perilously silent. 

She glanced at Harry, and he quirked a brow. She nodded, and with her signal, he stopped applauding. The remaining four followers followed suit, and McGonagall continued to smile in a way that felt like a challenge to a duel. 

Then she went on to Trelawny, and Hermione was so relieved she barely remembered to pretend to clap for the abominably useless divination teacher. Turning back to Harry, she took a deep breath. 

He also let out a long sigh. “Who knew that we’d have to plan applause?” Harry shook his head. “Scheme about it, even.”

“What the fuck, guys?” Ron asked. “Applauding for the greasy git--” 

“Shut up, Ron, McGonagall’s still talking,” Ginny hissed. Her brother fell silent, but he continued to glower as McGonagall announced Longbottom was Head Boy. 

Hermione returned to pretending to listen to McGonagall, but her eyes soon slid over to check Snape’s reaction. As expected, he was not pleased. Behind the curtain of dark hair, she could feel that cold glare, pinning her down just as surely as ingredients on his cutting board.

Later that night, Hermione had been called to the Headmistress’ office to receive her detail of Head Girl duties for the year. As she hurried to the office, her survival instinct kicked in and, too accustomed to war to fight them, she quickly hopped behind a portraited alcove and cast a notice-me-not. She noticed quickly that the portrait, while opaque to someone outside the alcove, was translucent from within the alcove

A moment later, a storm tore down the hallway. A storm in the form of a Professor Snape with a thunderous scowl and robes so billowy she swore he’d charmed them to have at least six extra layers of billow. Cringing into her hidden alcove, Hermione bit her lip and prayed her charm would hold. 

He paused in his stride by her portrait, and she swore his black eyes found her behind the protective painting. It was opaque to him, he shouldn’t be able to see her! But he still seemed to detect her presence, somehow. 

She’d never noticed how pretty the darkness of his irises was, and although she’d had his attention before, she’d rarely had his full and undivided regard. It was overwhelming, like every crevice of her being was under scrutiny. _Fuck, fuck, fuck, shit, fuck--_

And just like that he was off again, apparently having decided that nothing was the matter. She waited until his steps faded in the hallway and the adrenaline in her blood calmed down, then pushed away the portrait and hurried to the Headmistress’ office. 

She paused as the gargoyle closed behind her, taking a moment to catch her breath. 

“Miss Granger?” McGonagall’s voice called. 

“Sorry, Headmistress.” She quickly hopped up the stairs to the office, hoping she didn’t look too breathless. 

The Headmistress frowned at her, studying Hermione carefully. Hermione looked at her black-buckle shoes, trying to steady her breathing. “Dear, your lip is bleeding, and you seem awfully out of breath.”

It was bleeding? Without thinking, Hermione brought her bottom lip back into her mouth, chewing it nervously for a moment before she realized what she was doing and started a little, flushing. “S-Sorry, Headmistress.” 

“Is everything alright, Miss Granger?”

Hermione nodded. “Yes, Headmistress. I was, er, just dealing with some tough Arithmancy problems and nearly forgot the time. That’s why I’m so… out of breath.”

Some things never changed, and Hermione Granger was still a shit liar. 

The Headmistress chuckled. “Well, classes haven’t started yet,” she began, and Hermione colored even brighter, realizing she’d been caught. “However, you are always a very proactive learner. Sit down, please, let’s go over your schedule.”

Hermione nearly thought that she’d gotten away with the whole terrifying interaction during dinner, but as the Headmistress was about to dismiss her, McGonagall instead just gave her a sympathetic but pointed smile. Hermione’s stomach flopped. She knew what _this_ was about.

“Miss Granger?”

“Yes, Headmistress?”

“While I appreciate you convincing your friends to… support Professor Snape’s return, I would warn you to be careful. He is assuredly a hero, but…” McGonagall paused, and her lips thinned as she pressed them together. “...After what we determined over the summer, I would urge caution. I understand your concern for him, but you and your friends have had enough hell. It is not your responsibility to make things harder for yourselves in order to make things easier for another person, even someone as deserving as Professor Snape.”

Hermione’s shoulders sagged.

“Please remember, Miss Granger, he can’t know that you were involved in his rescue.”

Finally, Hermione found her voice. “Headmistress McGonagall, have you ever rescued an animal?” she asked. 

McGonagall paused, then shook her head. 

“When I was younger… my parents and I, we lived by a place where people would abandon cats. Just toss them out of their cars as they drove by.”

“That’s awful.”

“Yes. My parents and I would collect them and help them find rescues, so kind souls could adopt them and give them the love they deserved. I always liked the kittens, but sometimes there were these older cats, and…” Hermione shifted, so she could use her hands to gesture. “One day, we found this older black tom.” 

“How appropriate.”

Hermione managed a small smile at McGonagall’s dry words. “Horrible, ugly thing. He’d lost an eye and his leg looked like it’d been ran over, and he was hissing and scratching and biting at anyone who got close. I was terrified of him, I thought he deserved to be left.” She looked at the Headmistress, unable to contain the tears in her eyes. Not just from the cats, either. “But my mother just sat by him and gave him water and little bits of food and slowly he came around. We got him to the vet and ever after, he was the most loyal and loving creature you ever met. He saved my life once, by letting my parents know that I was allergic to something.” She sought some sort of understanding in McGonagall’s expression. “He might’ve hissed and spat and clawed at us but he was just scared. Scared and in pain and so horribly alone.”

McGonagall nodded. “I know, Hermione,” she replied, her voice low and quiet and surprisingly thick with tears. “I know. But you’ve rescued the cat. You can’t always be the one to open its heart.” Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but McGonagall threw up a finger to stop her. “That being said. I can’t officially approve, but I’m certain I can’t stop you, either.” She began to count, beginning with the finger she’d already raised. “No undue attention. Perform capably. Don’t antagonize.” 

Hermione finished for her. “And know that he doesn’t mean it.”

McGonagall chuckled. “Well, he probably does some of the time, and he certainly thinks he means it. But yes. You cannot let him know that he’s one of your ‘projects,’ you understand? He won’t take kindly it.” She reached out and grasped Hermione’s hand with her own, and Hermione found herself caught by McGonagall’s eyes. Swallowing, she maintained eye contact. 

“Yes, Headmistress.”

“You can’t make him one of your projects,” McGonagall said. “You can’t try and ‘fix’ him. He will _never_ respond well to that. You must understand it may not be your touch that teaches him to trust, and it is not a failing to step away from pain. You can only try to understand and be present for him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .... I also also forgot to mention that everyone will swear like a sailor, because I'm foulmouthed like that.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ron bashing time oops

Hermione knew it was only a matter of time before things with Ron fell apart. After trying and failing to get into her pants again, he’d called her frigid and bitchy and like a dead fish and she’d told him that she just wanted to be his friend, that it’d been a mistake from the stress of the war, and now she needed some time to figure out what the hell she’d just gone through. 

He stormed out of her room so furiously she thought the door was going to break, or that she’d be in physical danger. A moment later, a tearful Ginny rushed up to comfort her, followed not long after by Harry. 

She’d told them to worry more about Ron, she’d be fine, and she didn’t want to split apart their little friend group--let alone sour Ginny’s relationship with her brother over something so silly. 

Ginny dried the tears on Hermione’s face. “Hermione, you are the brightest witch of our age, but you are also incredibly daft. My brother’s a right git and an idiot. I’d tell you what he called you but I don’t want you to have to think about that.”

She managed, through a sniffle, “Don’t worry, Gin, I’ve probably heard them all already.”

Ginny’s gaze darkened and she looked over her shoulder. “I’m going to hex that bastard.”

“Don’t.” Hermione took another tissue and blew her nose again. “He’s… he’s just like that when he’s upset.”

Ginny rolled her eyes. “Yeah, and it’s _unacceptable.”_

Harry squeezed her shoulder. He’d been silent nearly the entire time. “Hermione?”

“Yeah?”

He drew a deep sigh. “I think… Oh, fuck, I’m the worst friend ever for saying this--”

Hermione shook her head. “Don’t worry, Harry. I understand. You could never choose someone over him.”

“That’s…” He opened and closed his mouth a couple times. “Not what I was going to say. What I was going to say was that you’ve stood behind me this entire time. I think I owe you my life at least twenty times over, and that’s before we even get to our… camping trip. And after, too, you’ve been with me as we deal with all this… adult bullshit that we’re not even supposed to have to handle.” He pulled her into a side hug, and she buried her face in his shoulder. “You’re the sister I never had and always wanted. You and Ginny are the people I want beside me when I have to face the next crisis.”

Hermione snorted a mirthless laugh into his sweater. “Because you know the Ministry sure as hell isn’t going to be able to handle it.” 

He scoffed, but it sounded more like a laugh. “Yeah. But not just when there are crises. I want the two of you around all the time, because I’ve decided you’re the best people in the world. Okay?”

Ginny beamed and joined the hug, Hermione opening up an arm to let her in. “I love you guys, okay? One of you in a slightly different way than the other.” She giggled. 

“Merlin’s sake, Ginny!” Hermione couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her. 

“Oh, I know you secretly want in Hermione’s pants,” Harry shot back, grinning. 

Hermione threw her head back, rolling her eyes. “No. No more Weasleys attempting pants entry. I’ve had enough of that for a while, thank you very much.” 

She’d gone to bed considerably cheered. She’d attempted to persuade them to keep their relationship with Ron good, but to her surprise, Ginny had stood firmly by her side. It made her wonder what Ron had really said about her, but Hermione found that she could guess well enough without the precise details. 

It wasn’t until the next morning that Hermione realized she still had double Potions with Ron Weasley to endure that day. Ron’s timing was impeccably awful, as always. 

Hermione corralled her hair into a bun and stabbed it through with a pair of chopsticks to keep it in place. Then she gathered up her texts for the day and hurried, so she wouldn’t be late. 

After having to break up a tangle between a Slytherin and Gryffindor (she wished some things would change), she was running tight against the clock. So she was less than pleased when Ron was standing in the doorway of the Potions classroom. 

She attempted to step around him, but he just moved sideways to block her. “Miney, we need to talk.”

“Not now, Ron,” she hissed. “I need to attend class.” Head Girl being late on the first day of class was not an impression she wanted to make. 

A black shadow appeared behind Ron. “Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger, is there an issue?”

Ah. _There_ it was. That cold voice was the sound of her day going to shit. 

“No, sir,” Hermione replied dutifully, ignoring how her cheeks flushed. _Sweet Circe, Ronald, get the bloody hint. _

“This is a Potions classroom, not some lovers’ bungalow,” Snape hissed. As he bore down, Ron cowered away, which thankfully left Hermione’s pathway into the room clear of Weasleys, if not clear of terrifying professors. “Ten points from Gryffindor for both of you, and detention tonight and seven. I’ll make that twenty points each if you’re not in your seats before the bell.”

He stepped aside and Hermione lunged through before Ron could, quite happy to make use of the muscles she’d never quite lost. Ginny waved her over excitedly, and Hermione’s heart nearly burst at the realization that Harry and Ginny were still forming a protective guard for her. She sat down between them, offering each of them a thankful smile as she unpacked her things. 

As she took her notes, she strategized. She needed to maximize her time in the ingredients storage room, and minimize her contact with Ron. It wasn’t that she was _planning_ to steal things from Snape (again), it was just… well, alright, stealing from Snape was her back-up plan. The primary plan was obtaining them in perfectly legal, above-the-counter ways that would all be wonderfully moral and polite. And if that failed, theft it was. 

“We will begin the semester with a revision of the wit-sharpening potion, seeing as how many of you had a spotty education last year and may require such a draught.” Lovely. Some things never changed, and Snape was still an asshole. Hermione almost felt relief. “If you can manage its creation.”

When Snape began to ask the class about the potion, Hermione realized with dawning horror that she would not be able to answer the questions this year. Because she had promised McGonagall _oh-so-faithfully_ that she’d not attract Snape’s attention. And answering questions probably constituted attention. She chewed on her lip furiously. Could she answer a small amount of questions, after everyone else had a chance to be called on? Maybe. Maybe she’d just… play last resort for Snape. If he even wanted to look at her, which she wasn’t sure about. 

The first few questions were okay. People did a good job of volunteering, for which Hermione was endlessly grateful. Maybe she could keep her promise to McGonagall after all. 

“At what stage should your potion be dark green?” Professor Snape asked. Resounding silence was his answer. 

_One… two… three… fuck it…_ Hermione raised her hand. 

He did not call on her. 

Merlin, she forgot how much of an absolute bastard he was. Now, though, she didn’t feel nearly as afraid. Maybe… how did she feel? Not surprised. Not happy, but not angry either. Finally, she settled on bemusement.

Was it wrong for her to consider Snape’s overtures of terror… infantile? He was so clearly putting up a wall, and he got very pissy when it was disturbed. 

Hermione realized no one had answered. The image of the hissing, wounded alley cats came back to her mind. So she threw caution to the wind, kissed her House points goodbye, apologized to McGonagall in her head, and stated, “Never. It should only be lime green, after both mixings of ginger root. Too much mixing after adding armadillo bile the second time may turn the potion dark green.”

“Thirty points from Gryffindor and detention tomorrow night for speaking out of turn.” Snape pinched his nose bridge. “It is absolutely abysmal that to produce an answer, I must be disrespected by a single impetuous know-it-all in a class full of supposedly intelligent seventh years.” 

Hermione had to look down at her paper to cover her smile. She’d called it, on so many levels. Oh, yes, Snape was still terrifying. Absolutely and utterly. He was one of the most powerful wizards alive, and she was completely certain that if he really wanted to, he could give her a mental dressing down that would make her recede a few years in self-confidence. But somewhere along the line, Hermione had found his weakness: simply not giving a thestral’s ass. 

Could she keep it up? That was another question entirely. 

When it was time to collect ingredients from the stockroom, Hermione decided to wait until the rush was over to collect her materials. After most of the class had come back out, she went down and slipped in, quickly sizing up the room. 

Small. One entrance, behind her. Many volatile ingredients, organized alphabetically. Not much room to move around. A decent place to fight dirty in, with all the mysterious substances. 

She headed for the armadillo bile first, measuring out just as much as she needed. Then she checked the jobberknoll feathers. She’d need stewed mandrake, too—

“Hermione. We need to talk.” 

Merlin’s shits, Weasley was stubborn. “Not now,” she repeated. “We’re in the middle of bloody class, Ronald.”

“The hell does that matter? You’re always so bloody fixated on your education. If you gave us an honest chance instead of paying more attention to your books than to me, we would work!” 

Hermione paused very thoughtfully, then turned around and began to measure out her ginger root. She didn’t look towards him, not even when she heard him step forward and her fight or flight kicked in. 

“Hermione! Fucking pay attention to me when I’m speaking! You’re so bloody inconsiderate, you know that, right?”

She bit her lip, focusing on the remainder of her reagents. Hermione was certain she had never wanted Snape to show up more than now. Ron was getting louder, so she was pretty certain it wouldn’t be long now. 

“You can’t just ignore me forever! Stop being such a bitch—“ Ron grabbed her hand and she winced slightly as the ginger root dropped to the floor. 

“Is there an issue, Mr. Weasley?”

There it was! Hermione was pretty certain her entire week was going to shit at this rate. Snape loomed in the doorway, leering pointedly at Ron. 

“Miss Granger?”

She took a deep breath, closed her eyes. “Nothing I can’t handle, sir.” 

One imperious black eyebrow raised as he looked to the dropped ginger. “Your ginger--the root, that is--says otherwise.” 

Was that a joke? Lovely. If it were anyone but Snape that might have earned a laugh. As it was, she scowled at the root until it levitated up and into the dish. “Weasley, please release me so I can return to my studies.”

She looked at Ron for the first time in their encounter. He was livid. She could see the veins on his face in stark contrast to the flush of anger. 

“Mr. Weasley, return to the classroom. Detention with Filch all of next week. There will be no manhandling of my reagents.”

Right, because the reagents were the important part here. Ron released her and stalked back to the room. Hermione looked at her wrist, silently cursing the fact that it would undoubtedly bruise. 

“Miss Granger.”

“Apologies sir, just getting my bearings.” Because she couldn’t just snap back from an encounter with an angry ex like nothing occurred. 

“Five points from Gryffindor for dawdling.” He spun on his heel and vanished. 

She was careful to wait until he was out of eyesight to roll her eyes and laugh humorlessly. He might as well have said ‘five points for poor taste in men’ but Hermione had a feeling he’d take off a lot more than that. 

The rest of double Potions passed without too much going wrong. She could feel Ron glaring at her, but was careful to ignore him and focus instead on making sure Snape didn’t have any additional reason to make her evening hell. 

That afternoon she was careful to take dinner early and quickly, eager to dodge Ron, before retreating to her rooms to tame her hair into a bun. No sense in it getting in the way during detention, since she’d probably have to clean cauldrons or something. 

She was one corner away from the potions classroom when she realized that there was someone waiting for her. Platinum blonde hair and a tall, too-lanky figure. Draco. 

“Granger,” he said as she attempted to ignore him and pass by. “A word?”

Hermione’s stomach churned a little as she turned. “So long as I’m not late to detention, Malfoy.” 

He smiled, but it didn’t quite fit on his face, still a little too foreign for the shadow of a boy. “Just wanted to warn you about that stunt you pulled yesterday in the Great Hall. He’s not going to like it, you know that, right?”

Was Malfoy threatening her? Hermione searched his eyes. No… there wasn’t the typical glint of a leer. Instead, maybe something like worry, or even appreciation. He’d changed, she noticed, more than just physically. She knew he’d been held in Azkaban until he was charged as a minor during trial. Snape’s memories had saved him, too. Both she and Harry had been called to testify--in his defense. They’d made the point that if they were in his position, pressured into taking the Dark Mark, they probably wouldn’t have been any better off. 

Maybe this was how Slytherins said thank you. “I’m aware,” she said, finally. 

“Watch yourself, Granger.” 

She offered a smile, and he seemed to relax a little. “You too, Malfoy.” 

He pushed from the wall, and wandered off down the corridor. 

Hermione made her way to the Potions classroom, checked the time, and paused outside the open door. She could smell the results of the day’s brewing wafting from inside the room.

_No undue attention. Perform capably. Don’t antagonize._ She took a deep breath, and was about to knock on the doorframe to report for her attention when she heard running footsteps behind her. 

“Miney!” 

Aha. Hermione knew there was no way Snape hadn’t heard that. There went ‘don’t antagonize.’ 

Ron skidded to a halt beside her, his shoes squeaking on the floor. She hated that squeak. “Miney, we need to talk. I wanted to let you know, before you ignored me like a bitch, that I’ve forgiven you.”

Hermione steeled herself. She kept her voice quiet, hoping to avoid further antagonizing Snape. “Ronald, we have maybe forty seconds until we’re late for detention. I’m not talking about this right now.” She made a move for the classroom, but Ron grabbed her arm.

“You’d put us after detention with that greasy--”

Without thinking, Hermione flicked her fingers at him and his mouth was suddenly filled with feathers. “Don’t be an _ass,_ Ronald.” As he coughed and spat them all over the floor, she turned towards the room, knocking lightly on the doorframe. Snape was at the desk, grading papers, pointedly not acknowledging what was happening outside of the classroom. 

“Enter,” he called. 

She strode purposefully to his desk, standing in front of it. “Reporting for detention, sir.”

There was an especially loud wheeze and hack from the doorway. She shot a glance towards the door, wondering if Ron had inhaled a feather or two. Who knew that stuffing his mouth full of feathers would be such good stress relief?

When she glanced back at Snape, he was looking to the door as well. He blinked slow and lazy, and exhaled a sigh through his nose. “Miss Granger, were you never taught to clean up your trash?”

Hermione couldn’t help the little hop that her heart did at his… joke? She wasn’t sure what she should call it. She just knew he looked faintly amused. That was the opposite of antagonizing! ...Protagonizing? She had no idea what the word was. 'Behaving,' probably. 

Her joy must’ve found its way onto her face, because one of Snape’s thin dark brows raised imperiously. “Ten points from Gryffindor for feathers in my classroom.” 

She got the feeling, again, that he was taking points off for her taste in men, but even that continued trend couldn’t damper her attitude. “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.” 

Snape gave her a Look that said she was pushing it. “You will be cleaning cauldrons.”

Predictable, but not the worst he could’ve handed to her. Of course, he’d never let her do it with magic, so she drew her wand and held it out to him. He arched a brow, but took it, then turned back to grading. That was evidently her dismissal. 

She was on her second cauldron, enjoying the feeling of hot water and the way her muscles burned when she scrubbed as hard as she possibly could, when Ron finally staggered in. 

“Trouble breathing, Weasley?” came Snape’s greeting. Hermione risked a glance out of the corners of her eyes at the confrontation, enjoying Ron’s redness for once. “Since I doubt I can trust you with even the most banal of tasks-” he inclined his head towards where Hermione was scrubbing cauldrons “-you will be writing lines. ‘I will not manhandle.’”

Hermione practically glowed. Snape hadn’t said ‘I will not manhandle the reagents,’ he’d just made it a no-manhandling policy in general. That wasn’t a defense of her, it was likely just a broader reproach, but it felt perilously close to progress.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The cat's back!
> 
> TW: suicidal ideology, cutting, self harm reference/implication

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: suicidal ideology, cutting, self harm reference/implication

Any illusions of ‘progress’ were destroyed during Hermione’s second detention, the next day. Snape was making her scrub cauldrons again, and once she finished that, he’d snipped at her for her attitude and told her to organize the reagents room. 

She’d been careful to suppress any joy she felt at that, terrified he’d take her chance away. 

Stealing during detention would not go over well, but she could at least identify what was present in the stock room. It made the time go much faster, too, since her organizational tendencies luxuriated in the chance to perfectly order the ingredients. 

The last half an hour was nearly unbearable. Snape had apparently decided he had nothing better to do than ‘supervise’ her by looming in the doorway and insulting any time that she even paused. It was all Hermione could do to bite back tears and remember her mother, slowly and gently approaching the injured cats. 

She didn’t have time between detention and patrols, so by the time she got back to her room it was late and she collapsed into bed, exhausted. She was careful to not squish Crooks where he lay sleeping at the foot of her bed, barely throwing off her robes before she curled up under the sheets. 

“Night, Crooks,” she told him automatically. 

“Maow,” he replied. 

It wasn’t until she woke up that she realized that there was no way Crooks could have been snuggling. She stared at the spot. His spot. There was no indication of any feline presence, now or the night before. Had she been hallucinating? Maybe she wasn’t over her grief like she thought she was.

Later that day, she asked Pomfrey for a quick check-in, asking about unusually vivid dreams and dizziness. All Pomfrey could offer was dreamless sleep and a sympathetic smile as she talked about stress and post-war experiences. 

So she went to class and pretended she wasn’t going crazy. 

When Hermione got back to her quarters that night, Crooks was sitting on her desk. She stared at him, heart hammering at her ribcage so hard she was scared it’d burst out. 

“Crooks?” she whispered. 

Crookshanks (who had been dead for a year at least) looked back at her, his ears flicking once, as if asking, ‘what?’ His tail flicked back and forth, and he stared at her like this was the most normal thing ever. 

She raised her wand and cast a ghost-sensing charm. It didn’t pick him up. Well… not precisely. The air distorted near him, his appearance shimmering with sparks of blue, but then it reverted to normal and Hermione was left to stare at a perfectly normal-looking Crooks. 

Her heart froze. Had some evil being subverted her cat’s death to get to her? She cast spell after spell, searching for any indication of Dark magic. Nothing. No curses, no dangers, no illusions. 

Fuck it, she trusted her spellwork. 

“Crooks,” she gasped, running over and hugging him, fully expecting her hands to go through him. But instead, she found him physical and fluffy. Hermione barely registered her knees hitting the ground as she embraced him. Her tears melted into his orange fur. “Crooks, how the hell?”

He rubbed his cheek against her, tail still twitching. It hadn’t stopped moving, which was unusual, as he had always been a very lazy cat. 

Hermione breathed in his scent, and realized that instead of the typical smell of stinky kitty, he smelled of magic. Ancient magic. Older than anything she’d dealt with in a while. Without hesitation, she raised her wand and began to run more diagnostic spells, looking for the type of magic that influenced her cat. 

There were definite traces of magic, old magic, so old that she wondered if it was affecting her own casting. Biting her lip and taking Crooks on her lap--which he accepted without protest, as usual--she started casting basically anything that came to mind. He didn’t show any traces of Light magic, either. And he showed no traces of life. 

She couldn’t feel his heart beating, either, come to think of it. And while he was physically present, as she hefted him up and down, she realized he weighed almost nothing at all. 

“Crooks, what happened to you?” she asked. He simply curled back up on her lap and let out a contented sigh, tail still twitching. 

***

Severus had thought, just for a few moments that day, that someone had actually stood up for him. 

Everyone knew about his teenage years being bullied at Hogwarts, but they did not realize that the vitriolic comments had continued. It was undoubtedly his fault at this point, but the students’ disgust still pricked at him like barbs, no matter how old he got. Even Slytherins, despite his attempts to legitimately take care of them, would only invoke him as a way to earn his favor. 

For the first time in his decades, someone had stood up for him, without seeking anything in return.

Weirder was the fact that it was Granger. Her words to Ronald had been so quiet that he knew she hadn’t intended for him to hear. That night, during detention, he’d felt strangely content. 

It was ruined the next morning, of course, as he realized Granger would never actually put anything on the line for him. Her support with Potter was nothing more than a publicity stunt. That’s all he was--another pawn on someone else’s chessboard. 

Fuck that. 

How could he be so foolish as to still think that someone would ever willingly take his side? He was supposed to be experienced enough to understand that. 

He made sure she understood it, too. He was certain that he’d reduced her to tears at least once during detention the next day, and students scattered as he approached. 

Severus took food in his room, but after picking at the mashed potatoes, he found he wasn’t hungry. Honestly, he wasn’t sure he’d been hungry in days. Instead, he decided to take a bath. 

After starting the warm water, he closed the door and disrobed except for his boxers. He set the razor on the side of the bath, right by the empty soap dish, and stepped in. 

The scorching hot water slid around him in a way that almost seemed welcoming. He dropped the glamours on his forearms. Although he couldn’t hide the Dark Mark, even in its state of decay, he could cover the other scars. Most notably, a series of parallel lines, on the insides of his arms, so old that they were barely white lines on his pale skin. 

When he looked up, he saw the cat. 

The beast was as orange as a Weasley and its face was smushed in, like someone had punched its nose in or it had ran into a wall too many times. Sharp eyes watched him, the tip of its tail twitching to and fro, as it sat by the soap dish and his feet. 

Severus was so stunned that his only reply could be, “What the fuck?”

The cat looked down at the steaming water, and with the hesitation and poise of a true cat, dipped one paw in the water and curled it up to that scrunched up nose, sniffing at it. Apparently the water did not pass the cat’s perfunctory examination, as it flicked the paw a few times to dry it. 

“Fuck off,” Snape told the cat. “I’m busy, can’t you see?”

It did not deign to respond, instead turning to nose at the nearby soap dish. He could see its whiskers twitching as it sniffed. Stealthily, Snape picked up one of his feet and attempted to push the cat off his bathtub. 

The cat stepped away from his foot, and, with a pointed spiteful look at him, swatted the soap dish off of the tub. 

Snape rolled his eyes. 

The cat paused, its paw still up, hovering by the razor. 

“Don’t touch that!”

Another swat, and the razor toppled over the edge. 

Damnit. He couldn’t even be left alone for a task as bloody as this. Instead he had some asshole student’s runaway familiar fucking him over. 

With a sigh, Snape held out his hand, summoning a towel from the nearby rack. He stepped from the bathtub, intent on ridding his quarters of feline intruders, and froze. 

There was no razor on the floor, or soap dish. 

Wrapping the towel around his waist, he knelt down to look for other places the razor could’ve wandered off to. The cat hadn’t hit it with any particular force, and his bathroom was plain enough that he could see all possible hiding places. Even an _“accio”_ didn’t help him. 

He stared at the cat. “Did you just vanish my fucking razor?”

It was a question asked in exasperation but he swore he saw a self-satisfied glint in the cat’s eyes. With a growl, he lunged for the cat, intent on seizing whatever animagus or familiar was being such an asshole. Had Minerva put someone up to this? 

He lifted the beast by its scruff and held it up, watching as its tail continued to twitch to and fro. Snagging his wand from where it rested by the sink, he tapped it to the beast’s nose, attempting to dispel any animancy. 

Instead, the cat continued to be feline in his grasp, and nosed interestedly at his wand. It seemed to find the ebony tip far more interesting than it had the bathwater, and brushed its cheek against the wand. 

“Asshole,” he accused. 

The cat was nonplussed. 

Snape sighed, staring at the animal as it hung limply. He was tired. Tired of everything. Tired of living and waking up and dealing with students. They weren’t even as bad after the war, but he hated them nonetheless. A small part of him was pretty sure he hated the concept more than reality, but he wouldn’t admit to that. 

He was far too old and tired to deal with any of this, and a small twinge of self-hatred clawed at his insides as he remembered the last time he’d threatened a student’s familiar. Without releasing the feline interloper, he headed back into his quarters, checking his wards as he went. They were all completely intact. Whatever creature this was, it had slipped past his defenses, and a couple closed doors.

At the door to the hallway, he glared at the cat. “Do me a favor and show back up to smother me in my sleep,” he told it, and then tossed it out into the hallway, shutting the door before it even hit the ground. 

That night, when he awoke to a pressure on his chest and found an orange cat curled up there, by all appearances slumbering except for its constantly twitching tail, Severus was not amused. 

Asshole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> meow meow motherfuckers


	5. Chapter 5

Hermione chewed her lip as she stared at Crooks, sunning himself by her window. 

Ginny had come by earlier to borrow one of Hermione’s textbooks, and she’d passed by Crooks without even seeming to notice him. Ginny knew Crooks was supposed to be dead, she’d helped with the little funeral Hermione had held after the war. The Weasleys had already buried the body, but Hermione needed to pay her respects when she had the time and energy to properly devote to him. And Ginny had been one to suggest the possibility of adoption. 

But she walked by without even noticing the orange blob right in front of her eyes. Hermione had even stood beside Crooks as they carried on a conversation, waiting for her to notice the cat. But nothing. Instead, Hermione was left with the growing concern that her cat wasn’t visible to other people. 

It wasn’t something she had time to dwell on. Between her duties, revising for her N.E.W.T.s, and classwork, she barely had time for the main personal project she insisted on working on: the memory restoration potion. 

The weekend she had free to head to Hogsmeade, she hurried up into the bookshop. She headed straight for the section on potions. 

It was fairly substantial, but she noticed to her dismay that there was a distinct lack of more advanced texts. She drummed her fingers on their spines, enjoying the smoothness of the bindings and the scent of paper, picking out one that looked promising and flipping to the table of contents. 

Absolutely nothing on potions for memory. There wasn’t even much on potions to alter minds, beyond the common ones. 

She tried five more texts, and was about to give up and head to the legilimency or occlumency sections in desperation when she stumbled into someone behind her. 

“Eep!” escaped her mouth before she had a chance to control herself. Flushing, she looked up to see who she’d stumbled into. 

Snape was staring down at her with bright hatred in his eyes. Don’t antagonize. 

“Sorry, Professor.”

“Watch where you’re going, Granger.”

“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.” She stepped out of his way, then hesitated. Would it hurt to ask? Probably. She ran the calculations in her head. Costs: Snape would suspect her, and also probably think she was irredeemably awful. Benefits: he might give her an answer, a place to start. 

‘Might’ being the operative word here. 

“...Sir?”

He was already looking at the shelves, and didn’t glance at her. “What.”

“Do you happen to… know of any texts that might talk about memory potions? Not the memory-sharpening ones. Memory restoring potions.”

There was a moment of silence, and her gut tried to drop through the floor while her heart tried to climb out of her mouth. He was suspicious. She could practically see the cogs turning, so similar to the calculations she’d sketched out in her head moments earlier but infinitely more terrifying. 

“Yes, but you won’t find them in a store like this,” he replied at last, and she nearly collapsed with the relief of an answer, even if it wasn’t a good one. “The most pertinent ones you’d have to import from Belgium, and even then there’d be precious little. Why?”

Fuck, that was the most helpful answer she’d ever gotten out of Snape. What had happened after the war? Oh, shit, he was looking at her expectantly for an answer. She spluttered a little. 

“Curiosity, sir, I’m just curious.” 

Some things never changed, and Hermione Granger was a terrible liar. 

Snape sniffed in a way that indicated he didn’t believe her in the slightest. 

She chewed on her lip. “Er. Thank you, sir. I mean it.” She tried to keep the feeling out of her voice, keep him from realizing how much it wasn’t just simple curiosity, but still convey authentic thanks. She was pretty sure it didn’t work, and was all the more certain he suspected her when his brow crept perilously upwards. “If you’ll excuse me.” 

Before she could fuck that up further, Hermione darted away to the occlumency section. 

The spell was irreversible by any normal means. She’d known that. She’d known that the instant she thought about it and she’d gone through with it because she knew she couldn’t let people get hurt for her. It wasn’t that she regretted her decision, she thought as she bit back tears, but that she still wished she could maybe solve this problem like she’d solved all the others. It might’ve been a child’s hope, but she’d cling to it nonetheless. 

That night at dinner, she was finishing eating when Harry came in. His hair was at all the wrong angles and he had bags beneath his eyes. 

“Harry, I say this with love, but you look awful.”

He laughed. “Thanks, Hermione.” He rubbed at his eyes as he pulled over some chicken. “I’ve been getting these awful nightmares. Ran out of my stock of dreamless sleep last night and haven’t had the chance to pick up more.” 

“Lovely, nightmares.” She scooped up some mushy peas onto her spoon. “Want to run by the infirmary together, after dinner? It’s on the way to the library.”

“That’d be great.” He grabbed some peas himself, and began to eat. “How’re classes treating you?”

“Could be a lot worse. Haven’t had detention again yet, but it’s only a matter of time before Snape decides he doesn’t like the way I breathe.” She sighed, not wanting to admit how stressed that made her, knowing she was under his scrutiny. “Arithmancy just keeps getting more and more interesting.”

Harry snorted. “Only you would say that.”

She flashed a grin at him. 

“Did you…” He leaned in. “Ask Snape about the potion?”

She stared up at him. He must’ve read her worry in her eyes. She sighed. Maybe she needed to review her occlumency. “Not directly. I asked him about texts that might have references to it.” 

He nodded. “Look, Hermione, if anyone can invent a memory restoration potion, it’s you.”

She rolled her eyes. “Wrong. If anyone can invent a memory restoration potion, it’s Professor Snape.”

“Okay, fair point.” Harry chuckled. “All the more reason you should ask him.” 

“I know, but I’m not keen on disturbing him more than I already am by existing in his general presence and attempting to be pleasant.” She grimaced a little, because she would very much like to ask him. “How are classes for you?”

“I mean, you know most of them. Speaking of, I might go talk to the Headmistress about the current… er…" He trailed off, staring at his turkey like it had personally kicked his puppy. 

Hermione’s grimace returned. She knew what he was talking about. The new DADA Professor was fucking useless. “The Professor Forwit is a useless piece of cardboard and hasn’t taught us anything new?”

“Yeah, that.” Harry ran a hand through his hair. “I’m just worried she’ll ask me to TA, and while I’d love it, I don’t think I have the time for it between this and the Ministry bullshit.”

Of course, the next time she was in potions Snape gave no indication that he’d fixated on her very, very suspicious question in any way. She was thankful for it, because it’d probably make her even more nervous than she already was. 

Nervous, because Ron had been glaring at her the entire day in their classes, and she really didn’t want to deal with it. She felt like she’d been demoted. For a solid seven years she’d been fighting the literal Dark Lord, and now she was dealing with a dumbass teenage boy. Wasn’t she allowed to stop dealing with teenagers yet?

...Maybe this was how Snape felt. 

The aforementioned Snape swept into the room with his triple-billowing-action-cloak and she swore the temperature in the room dropped by several degrees. Lovely. It was one of those days that he was practically shoving punishments on anyone who twitched. Even if she no longer wanted to soil herself when his insults and threats rained down, that still didn’t mean she enjoyed the tense atmosphere of his grumpy days. Well, grumpier days. 

Of course that was the day that Ron decided to knock over the powdered goat horn onto her. On purpose. She sighed and stared down at her soiled robes, taking a spare glass vial to siphon the dirty powder into with a quick twirl of her wand. Mixing the reagent back in with what remained of the clean powder could contaminate a potion. She checked over the floor, making sure she didn’t miss any spills, before capping both vials and turning to take the spilled reagent to Snape--

He was standing in the door, glaring at her. She was certain he’d seen the entire exchange, especially because Ron seemed frozen by the doorway, pinned by the Professor’s presence. 

“Weasley, ten points for reagent mishandling. And detention with Filch.” Snape stepped aside and gestured for Ron to get out. The ginger darted away. 

Hermione gathered her reagents and approached Snape, holding out the bottle of spilled horn. “Sir, this is the contaminated reagent.” 

He picked it from her hand with two long, pale fingers, holding it up to the light. “Five points for dawdling.”

_Or, for bad taste in men._ Hermione couldn’t help that she rolled her eyes. Even if he saw it. That particular gag was getting real old real fast.

“And detention tonight for disrespecting a teacher.”

Her eye twitched. A thousand burning retorts jumped to her tongue, ready to rip him several new ones, but she was a very calm and professional young lady, and Minerva would have her hide if Snape even mentioned Hermione’s ‘insubordination.’ Also, it wouldn’t do to start a screaming match in front of the entire class that she was _still trying to convince to respect the thrice-damned professor. _

“Yes sir sorry sir,” she replied mechanically, through teeth gritted into a smile. Snape met it with a sneer. 

Hermione was careful to use a disillusionment charm on herself on the way to detention that night, not eager to have another confrontation with Ron’s inept ass. She knew he was fucking half the school at this point, why was he still trying with her? 

Stepping out of the disillusionment, she knocked lightly on the open door of the classroom again. As normal. This was becoming a routine. 

“Enter.”

She walked over to his desk and stood in front of it. “Reporting for deten--”

The fireplace suddenly flashed with green. “Snape!” called a familiar voice. Pomfrey. 

He whirled around. “What?!” he snapped. 

“Snape, dear, can you mix up some more sleeping draught and calming draught? Everyone seems to be having awful night terrors this week.” 

Hermione arched a brow, chewing her lip thoughtfully. That was… interesting. Harry had mentioned it too. Not everyone could have such awful memories of the war as they did, and the school had been prepared for student trauma come reopening. Hermione refused to believe that McGonagall hadn’t stockpiled calming draughts and other things for when the nightmares continued. 

Pomfrey smiled at her. “Hello, dear.” 

Hermione smiled and bowed. “Madam Pomfrey.” 

Snape slammed a quill on the desk, snapping it in half. Apparently he didn’t take well to being called ‘dear’ in front of students. “Fine,” he snarled. “Now get out of my hair.” 

“Thank you!” chimed Pomfrey as she vanished from the fireplace. 

Muttering something, Snape turned to Hermione, and she felt positively harpooned by the anger in his gaze. “Since it appears we have a crisis on our hands, and you ought to be acceptable at the most basic of potions, you will be helping me brew tonight.” 

Holy Merlin, Snape was letting her brew with him! Yeah, sure, he made it sound like an insult, but she knew that he wouldn’t let someone help unless he knew they could handle it. 

Oh, shit. 

Suddenly she was under more pressure than the O.W.L.s. Snape did not distribute praise and she had long given up on receiving it, but she still wouldn’t disappoint.

Over the summer, Hermione had ended up brewing extra large cauldrons of calming draught for Harry and Ron and everyone else in the Burrow and Grimmauld Place. She knew the recipe by heart, and had even memorized the one from Snape’s textbook. 

“Yes sir,” she replied, trying her best not to chirp.

Snape pointed at the reagent room, rubbing at his nose bridge. He looked like he _already_ regretted this. “We will be brewing for twenty at a time.”

Fucking massive. Hermione had never brewed for so many at once. She hurried to the reagent room, doing the math for the reagents in her head. She was quite proud when she realized she could eyeball the amounts very accurately. Once they were weighed, she put them in bowls that she spelled to hover beside her. 

“The stock room is nearly out of crocodile heart, sir,” she informed him as she returned to the room, placing the bowls on the table beside him. 

Snape didn’t reply beyond a grunt, snatching up the peppermint and placing it in mortar, grinding it up with the accompanying pestle. 

Hermione watched, fascinated. She knew why he did that--it’d been in his notes in the textbook. Ground ingredients were easier to measure for weight (a ‘sprig’ was a terribly inaccurate unit of measurement), and mixed faster, than their whole counterparts. It was a side effect of increased surface area. 

“What, no questions?” he hissed, goading her. 

She shook her head. “No, sir, sorry, sir. I’ll go retrieve reagents for sleeping draught.”

Another grunt, and she hurried off. More bowls, which she dutifully delivered to the other cauldron he’d set up. She grabbed a mortar and pestle herself, working on powdering the standard reagent while he handled the lavender, handing him the reagents as he required them. He was silent, which was as close to a compliment as Snape ever got. 

“You’ll be making another batch of twenty for the calming draught. Retrieve what reagents you can from the standard stockroom, I’ll find the crocodile heart.”

_You?_ Did he mean _her,_ personally? She decided to not put too much stock in it. “Yes sir,” she replied instead, before snatching up two more bowls and hurrying off to the stock room. 

When she got back and was busy grinding up the lavender and mint, he simply slid her another bowl of diced crocodile hearts and walked away. 

He’d let her brew on her own!

Hermione tried to constrain her happiness, lest it make him revoke the privilege, and set up her brewing station. She started on the potion, and while it was simmering, charmed a stirring rod to stir itself and hurried over to help him crush up more reagents. He accepted her assistance without a word. 

The detention flew by, and it felt a lot like not detention. As Hermione carefully portioned out the calming draught into the little vials he’d supplied, she found herself smiling. She was careful to leave her brewing place cleaner than when she’d started, placed the crate of vials on Snape’s desk, and went over to help him package the sleeping draught. She handed him vials and corked them after he was done pouring, before fitting them into their own crate. 

After they were done with all the brews, he waved a hand disinterestedly at the brewing station and it began to clean itself up. Wandless magic. Hermione was well aware she was probably radiating happiness, which meant Snape probably wanted to throttle her. 

Instead, he just said, “You are dismissed, Miss Granger.” 

“Thank you, sir.” She made towards the door, then paused. They’d made forty calming draughts and twenty sleeping draughts… would that hold the infirmary for long? A step away from the door, she pivoted. He was already grading papers. “Sir?”

“What.”

“If you happen to be brewing more tomorrow, may I return?”

Silence. Then, “Why?”

“To… help.” That was the wrong word. Snape did not like help. She couldn’t think of anything better, so she just ploughed forward. “If the Infirmary really is in such a state, they’ll need more draughts soon, and you probably have more important things to do.” 

He sniffed. “Seven o’ clock.”

“Thank you-! Sir,” she said, an attempt to not sound too excited. “Have a good evening!” And then she ran out of the classroom before he had a chance to change his mind.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a plotlike object approaches!

Severus had known she’d be early. He had not realized she’d be a full twenty minutes early. 

Hermione seemed content to hover about the entrance of the classroom, until he rolled his eyes and called out. “Miss Granger, my classroom door is not a place for loitering.”

“Yes sir, sorry sir,” she replied, like she had been for the rest of the year. The response was starting to infuriate him. Sure, her know-it-all nature had been annoying as fuck. But he couldn’t hate her spark, as much as he tried. She was maybe what he could’ve been, if he hadn’t fucked everything up. 

He could still see the fire still inside of her, although she was much quieter and more contemplative. Maybe he’d try to get a rise out of her one of these days. 

Admittedly, the help brewing was nice. Nice, but not necessary. It wasn’t as if he was doing anything more ‘important’ than spending another lonely evening wrapped up in firewhiskey and self-hatred. He’d allowed her to come back under the pretense of trying to figure out more about her interest in memory potions. 

“The entire school seems to have an epidemic of night terrors,” he began. “We will be doubling batch size from last time.” Forty doses at once. She looked thrilled. “Follow me.”

He got up and lead her into his personal stock room, pretending to ignore her and watching her expression of wonder in the reflection of a glass vial. From the shelves he retrieved huge glass beakers of reagents, sliding them onto a central table by a scale. Without having to be asked, she sprung into action, chewing her lip as she measured out reagents. He noted that she began by eyeballing the quantity, then measuring her way to a precise number. She was unusually accurate. 

Apparently Granger’s illicit brewing activities had continued beyond second year. He was not surprised. 

This time he handed the sleeping draught off to her, curious to see how well she knew the recipe. He suspected she and her friends had need of the potion after what they’d been through. His suspicions were correct.

While the batches simmered, he returned to grading while she prepared ingredients for the next batches. Once those were prepared, she started cleaning the room, much to his... amusement. Was this how the girl relaxed? He had to admit he sometimes cleaned as a de-stressing activity, but he’d always assumed her eagerness to clean was sucking up. But now, as she worried at her lip and blazed a trail of spotless surfaces, he had a feeling that it was a personal thing. 

After she’d finished cleaning, she looked a little lost, confirming his guess. She meandered around nervously, and finally came over to the bookcase at the front of the classroom. All his personal tomes, but most of them were just supply catalogues. 

“Sir?”

“Mm.”

“Would you mind if I read one of these while I waited?”

His eyes narrowed, and she leaped backwards like a skittish deer. “They had best be returned in perfect condition,” he threatened, needlessly. 

“Yes, of course. I probably take better care of books than you do.” She glanced at the dog-eared book beside him on his desk, then colored. “Not that I--er, I mean, sorry.”

It was fun watching her dig herself further and further in. He continued staring, just to see what would happen.

“I didn’t mean to imply that you take poor care of books, I just meant it as a figure of speech, you see, oh, I’m so sorry, I--” She moved to back away from the bookcase, so he interrupted her.

“Fine.” He returned to grading. Once she was settled across from him at his desk, he subtly looked over at what she was reading. 

Ingredients catalogs. Multiple ingredients catalogs.

What. 

Granger was looking at jobberknoll feathers, and was she… comparing prices? And qualities? Her lower lip was going through the shredder, too, so she was apparently quite worried about it. She had a small notebook out, and had a chart going.

Severus continued to grade, watching as she worked through the catalog and found several reagents that were standard for memory potions. _Memory **sharpening** potions,_ he specified, thinking back to her words at the bookstore. Who the hell had forgotten something? And why was Granger so irritatingly nervous about fixing it?

“You’ll probably want American Sage,” he said as she hesitated between American and Northern European variants. “The powdering enhances American variants more than European.”

She nodded. “Thanks,” she said, noting that down. Then her hand froze halfway through ‘American,’ and she looked up at him with big wide eyes. Her eyes reminded him of the firewhiskey he had waiting for him back in his room. 

“Eep,” she said, then sat with her mouth hanging open for a bit. “Thank you,” she repeated, finally, and he could hear she meant it. 

He didn’t respond. How the hell was one supposed to respond to being thanked, anyway?

Her wand let out a ding, and she jumped into action, carefully setting the books down before rushing off to finish the potions. 

After she’d finished the batches and dropped them off on his desk, he dismissed her. She hovered by the door again as he picked up one of the vials and examined it in the light.

“Thank you for letting me brew, sir.” 

“No need to brown-nose, Granger.” 

“I’m not,” she protested. “I enjoyed it, and I’d be happy to brew more.” 

He stared through the vial, then slid his gaze over to her. He arched a brow. “I’m sure I can just give you detention the next time Pomfrey runs out of something.” 

Granger grinned a little, toeing at the ground. “Or _ask,_ if you’d prefer. Have a good night, sir.” 

Severus sniffed disdainfully at her disappearing form. Ask for help? Not likely. He’d have to make sure she understood he was not a friendly brewing partner. 

***

They were crawling. 

Everywhere. 

They were gnawing. 

Everywhere. 

They were clamoring and yowling and hissing and there were hundreds of hands on her and grasping and everywhere and she could see their sunken faces and toothy smiles and skin taut over bones and she was drowning and everywhere she looked she could only see the half-decayed faces with their skin peeled off around the lips and they were swarming, swarming _everywhere,_ and she couldn’t breathe, and they were moving, bringing her with them upwards in the air, and she was inside a massive mouth with three concentric rows of teeth like a lamprey, teeth made of shattered femurs and grasping claws, and she was looking out through the horrible jagged window of the mouth onto the battlefield, covered in new blood, and those horrible gnashing teeth undulated and turned towards the castle--

Hermione threw herself from bed and a wandless wordless hex splashed itself uselessly against her far wall. She landed on the ground, magic crackling at her fingertips, and… 

The room was washed in calm moonlight, Crooks lay on her bed, and nothing in the world was amiss. 

Sudden pounding on her door nearly made her explode with more accidental magic. Instead, she took a deep, shaking breath, and snatched up Crooks for comfort. 

“Hermione!” Harry’s voice. “Are you awake?”

Her wards told her this was truly Harry, not some impostor or half-imagined specter, so she pulled the door open, Crooks in one arm. He was shivering on her doorstep, looking absolutely awful. 

She pulled him into a tight head, smushing Crooks between them. 

“Fuck, I saw it again,” he mumbled into her hair, as she let herself cry on his shoulder. “The fucking nightmares.”

“Tell me what you saw,” she said, and it felt like a plea. 

“It was huge,” he mumbled. “I don’t know… some sort of creature, made from the bodies from the battlefield, and…”

“It had a mouth with three rows of teeth,” she supplied. 

He nodded. “You were in the mouth.” 

“Yeah. I couldn’t breathe.” 

He released her from the hug, looking her over as if ensuring she was okay, and then his eyes fell on Crooks. 

“That’s…”

She nodded. “Yeah.” She opened the door further, and he stepped in. She closed it behind them, checked the wards. Harry sat at the foot of her bed, and she joined him, depositing cat between them. “I’ve got no idea what’s going on. He’s not alive. I think he’s… he’s not a ghost, he’s not light or dark, he just is.” 

“Undead cats and terrible flesh golems,” Harry muttered. “When did he return?”

“A few days before the nightmares started up again.” She paused, petting Crooks. “Ginny can’t see him. Parvati couldn’t, either, when she came by.” 

Harry stared at Crooks, also taking the opportunity to pet the cat. “Feels real enough.”

“There’s no heartbeat. And he’s much lighter.” 

He snorted. “You always did try to pudge him up. He’s probably just at a healthy weight.”

Hermione stared at him, aghast, and lightly swatted his arm as he giggled. “My Crooks was never pudgy! He was _prosperous.” _

Harry fell back, laughing, but sobered up quickly. “I wonder why people can’t see him. Wonder if it’s like thestrals.”

“I’m sure Ginny would be able to see him, if he went by the same rules as thestrals.”

“Mm, you’re right.” Harry scratched his head. “Well, fuck. No doubt you have some idea about tests to run?”

Hermione managed a smile. “Oh, you bet your ass I do.” She paused, tilting her head and scratching Crooks’ ears. “Do you know if Ginny’s having nightmares, too?”

“She is. But it’s a different nightmare. She’s getting just… flashbacks to the war, I think. Same with Ron, and Neville, and everybody else I’ve talked to.” 

“So we’re the only ones getting this…“ Hermione waved a hand vaguely. “Bone monster.” 

“Yeah. You know, the creatures that made it up remind me of inferi.”

“That’s… troubling. Think you can ask around or eavesdrop, see who else might be having dreams like ours, or if they’re all just having normal nightmares?” Hermione hefted Crooks onto her lap. He melted out on her, his tail twitching. “I’ll figure out ways to see how many people can see Crooks.” 

“You got it, boss.” 

She snorted, and rolled her eyes. “I’m not that bossy!”

Okay, maybe she was, but a day later when she had Crooks in her arms while relaxing in the common room, nobody noticed except for Harry. The two of them were exchanging increasingly worried glances, and while everyone else was debating the quidditch season, Harry slid over to her. 

“We’re the only ones seeing the bone monster,” he said. “Did you have a dream last night?”

She shook her head. 

“Neither did I.” He paused, reached over, and frowned, pausing to sniff Crooks. “Hermione? He… he smells like Limbo.”

Harry rarely talked about Limbo, the time when he visited the train station between life and death. Hermione didn’t blame him. 

He glanced up at her, his brow scrunched. “I wonder if it’s got to do with whether people have died or not.”

“But I haven’t died,” she protested. 

“Not officially, no,” he said. “But when we got you back from... from the Manor, and that time with the basilisk…” 

“You think that counted?”

He shrugged. “All I know is that I have no idea how you lived through the Manor.” 

“I do.” Hermione managed a dry laugh. “I knew you and Ron needed a chaperone.” 

Snorting, Harry rolled his eyes. “You’re not wrong.” 

“We should check if anyone else has come close enough to death for them to see Crooks.” She rubbed at the cat’s ears. “I can think of one off the top of my head, but I doubt Snape’d tolerate me shoving a cat in his face.”

“Let’s try and keep that as a last resort. We’re not supposed to know how close to death he got, anyway.”

***

“Minerva, this is an abnormally high incidence of night terrors.” 

The Headmistress rubbed at her temples, while Severus stood across from her desk, arms crossed. Madam Pomfrey was seated by him, looking worried. 

“You can’t deny it,” Severus repeated. “Let me check the grounds for Dark forces. I don’t have the time to keep brewing this much sleeping draught, even with Granger.”

Minerva’s sharp eyes were suddenly staring at him. “Granger?”

Oh, fuck’s sake. He forgot how overprotective Minerva was about her little lioness. 

“Is that why she was there, Severus?” asked Pomfrey. “When I called on you?”

Rolling his eyes and tightening his arms over his chest, Severus scoffed. “She’s been in detention for her interactions with that _atrocious_ Weasley boy. I’ve had her brewing.” 

“I never thought I’d see the day!” Poppy beamed at him, her worry disappearing. “You found a student’s potions work satisfactory enough to have her brew for our infirmary! Brightest witch of her age, I say!” 

Sometimes, Severus hated Poppy. “Fucking Circe, that’s not what we need to focus on right now.” 

“You’re forgetting to mention something, Severus,” came the familiar voice of Albus from his portrait. Snape could practically hear the twinkle in his voice. 

“What?” he snapped. 

“Miss Granger volunteered to keep brewing, even after her detention, and you accepted.” Albus was definitely twinkling. Fuck him. Even after death, he couldn’t stop pissing Snape off. 

“I’ll wash your portrait with turpentine,” Severus snarled. 

Poppy gasped, her eyes matching Albus’ twinkle. “You’re making friends, Severus!” 

“Well, friend, singular,” Minerva muttered. 

“Friend!” Poppy corrected herself, without missing a beat. 

Severus pinched his nose bridge. “I’m surrounded by idiots.” Why was he even asking for permission to patrol? They couldn’t stop him if they tried. What would Minerva do, threaten to fire him? Saddle him with more wretched tweens? “I will be patrolling nightly,” he announced, stated, whatever. There would be no argument. “If I have to brew more, I’ll keep giving the damn girl detentions.” 

“When will you sleep, Severus?” Minerva asked. 

He shrugged. Frankly, he could not give less of a shit. “I’ll use dreamless sleep. I’m accustomed to it.” It was how he had survived being at the beck and call of two masters. Dreamless sleep and black coffee. 

Pivoting on his heel, he turned to go, but Minerva’s voice held him back. 

“Severus.”

“What.”

“Did you know Hermione is thinking about a Potions Mastery?”

No. “I’m very glad that her overtures of helpfulness are simply an application for apprenticeship.”

“Severus, you’re not thinking,” Minerva retorted, sharp and quick. “She doesn’t need an application for anyone but you. She’s one of the Golden Trio. I know for a fact that she received apprenticeship offers from three Masters on the continent, and she denied them all.” 

He stood at the top of the stairs, staring longingly at the door. “I fail to see how that’s relevant.”

“Just think about it. I’d let her sit her N.E.W.T.s early and start after Christmas break as your apprentice. She could take some of the brewing load and younger classes off of your shoulders.” 

It was a common misconception that Severus thought everyone else imbeciles. He thought _most_ people imbeciles, and he _acted_ like they _all_ were. He’d be a very poor spy if he couldn’t correctly estimate someone’s competency. 

Hermione Granger was, without a doubt, the most brilliant person Severus had ever met. And that was why he was especially careful to not trip up around her. Albus had known this, and Severus wouldn’t be surprised if he told Minerva. 

Minerva, who was still sitting there expectantly for some sort of answer. 

Fuck that. Severus didn’t respond, instead breezing--or storming, rather--out the door.

“Minnie, it appears you owe me a galleon,” he heard Albus say as he left. 

Was that bastard betting on Severus’ lack of friends? Damn him. 

***

Hermione was studying Arithmancy in the common room when an owl knocked on the window. Popping it open, she let in the bird, handing it a few treats from her pocket in exchange for the little scrap of paper attached to its claw. 

She unfurled the note to find McGonagall’s handwriting: _My office, in fifteen minutes. _

Packing up her books, she threw her bag over her shoulder and hurried to the Headmistress’ office, dodging a very snarly Professor Snape on the way. He seemed in an unusually bad mood, and didn’t even glance at her when he stormed through. 

A minute later, she knocked on the Headmistress’ gargoyle, which swung open. 

“I think he likes her,” she heard Dumbledore’s voice from far above as she climbed the stairs. 

“I agree.” Was that… Madam Pomfrey? What were they all doing there? Hermione hesitated. “At the very least, he wants to like her,” Madam Pomfrey finished. 

Slowly, Hermione climbed the rest of the stairs. “Er… Headmistress? I got this note…” She glanced between McGonagall, Madam Pomfrey, and the ever-twinkly Dumbledore.

“Yes! Come in, Miss Granger.” McGonagall indicated the empty chair by Poppy. “I assure you, you’re not in trouble.” 

“Oh! Uh, alright.” Hermione settled herself, as much as she could, into the chair indicated. 

“We need to adjust your patrol schedule,” McGonagall said. “Professor Snape has to time his later, so you will be taking over some of his patrols.”

She nodded, accepting the new schedule that McGonagall handed to her. Something as simple as scheduling didn’t seem like it required Dumbledore’s presence as well as Madam Pomfrey’s, but she tried to not glance at them too much. 

“I also wanted to talk to you about Professor Snape. He hasn’t been punishing you too harshly, has he?”

Hermione could see the worry in McGonagall’s eyes, but it was entirely unfounded. She beamed at the Headmistress’ furrowed brow. “Oh, not at all! He even let me brew last time, it was absolutely wonderful. I’ve never had to brew for such a large number of people before! I was making calming draught over the summer and everything, but that was only a small amount, and it gave me some great ideas about how to scale up production. And you learn so much, even just watching him! I’m--” She froze as she realized how much she was talking. “Sorry. Babbling.”

McGonagall chuckled. “You’re fine, dear. I know he probably doesn’t say it, but I’m certain you’re a huge help.”

“I certainly like having multiple people helping,” Madam Pomfrey supplied. “The two of you have practically tripled production speed.” 

Flushing, Hermione looked down at her hands. She was always a sucker for praise. “It’s no problem, really, Madam,” she said. “I just hope I’m not too much of a bother for Professor Snape.”

All three of them assured her otherwise, but Hermione still wasn’t convinced. 

A few days later, Hermione had completed her potion for that class and was turning it in. Snape held it up to the light, swirled it around, sniffed it, and muttered, “E. You will be serving detention this coming Saturday, beginning at one PM. Expect to run late. We’ll be making batches for eighty.”

Of course he’d never give her an O, and that wasn’t fine, but Hermione couldn’t dwell on it for too long or she’d break down in front of him and that’d definitely flunk her. Besides, Snape trusting her to brew batches of potions for the entire school felt like an entire essay espousing her greatness, coming from him. But such a large batch called for modern solutions. “Of course, Professor. May I bring my own brewing equipment?”

He sniffed distastefully. “If you must, Granger.”

It was time to show Severus Snape how she’d supplied an army.


	7. Chapter 7

Towards the end of the war and during the rebuilding efforts, Dumbledore’s army had required a broad diversity of brews. Hermione, being the person who generally had to deal with those sorts of things, had learned how to quickly and efficiently prepare and run several concurrent brews. 

One of her techniques was the use of charmed muggle cooking implements. She and Arthur had made them to help with supplying the group, but also because he was fascinated with them. A charmed blender, enchanted (ex-electronic) scale, lemon squeezer, peeler, steel mesh tea nets, measuring cups and spoons, garlic press, and several spritz bottles helped her quickly manage brews. She’d brought them with her to Hogwarts because she didn’t trust her friends’ ability to stay out of trouble. Now, she hurried to the Potions classroom with all of her muggle cooking gear in her beaded bag. She paused outside of the classroom to secure her hair up in a bun, then knocked. 

“Enter.” Snape was, of course, seated at his desk, grading. 

It was tough to keep the bounce out of her step as she came to stand in front of him. “Reporting for detention, sir.”

He didn’t look up, instead handing her a note in Madam Pomfrey’s handwriting. “Complete what you can. Don’t fuck it up. My private stock room is open to you. If something is locked, you’re not allowed to touch it. Try and not steal anything this time, Granger.”

Flushing, Hermione ducked her head. “I am sorry about that, sir.” She glanced around the classroom. “I may need a lot of space.”

Snape waved a hand dismissively. “If you ruin any batches, you’ll be scrubbing cauldrons until your pay for all the reagents you waste.”

She grinned, turning so Snape wouldn’t see it. “Brilliant,” she whispered, then louder, “Yes sir.”

So he was trusting her to know her limits. That was very… flattering of him, that he was willing to trust her. And Hermione would not fail him.

She pulled out his old textbook--the one Harry had gotten--in case of any uncertainty on her part. She’d been using it for the past year, and had added some of her own notes on small pieces of parchment stuck on with charms (writing next to Snape’s handwriting felt like too much of an intrusion). 

Then she numbered the potions the infirmary needed in order of urgency and brewing complexity. Casting a muffliato to keep from disturbing him, she grabbed the first three cauldrons she’d need, checked they were clean, and set one up on each desk. Humming softly to herself, she proceeded to upend her beaded bag, allowing all of her brewing equipment to tumble out. Snatching up a long scroll with ingredients and rough conversions between weights and volumes, she dashed happily off to the ingredients room to get started. 

She was half an hour into her brewing, already having successfully set up five cauldrons that were now self-stirring. Small dishes by each one had pre-measured and prepared ingredients, ready for when they needed to be dumped in. Little charmed clockwork timers by each one told her when they’d be ready for the next step. 

The garlic press and lemon squeezer were perfect for crushing a number of ingredients, and she was currently using the press to dice some crocodile hearts when she was startled by the sound of the blender turning on beside her. Letting out a small squeak, she jumped away and whirled to face the noise. 

It was Snape. He was bent over at the blender, pressing the buttons, which were charmed to act as they would on any normal muggle implement. For a moment she just watched him, struck by the glint in his eyes and he poked and prodded at the blender. That wasn’t his normal hateful glint. Was it… curiosity? She cancelled her muffliato to apologize, but before she could speak, he did. 

“This thing needs copper blades,” he said. “For grinding some of the touchier ingredients.”

Copper blades. She hadn’t even thought of that. “Brilliant,” she murmured, darting over to her notebook to note it down. “Stone too, I’d bet.” 

He nodded. “What’s it called?”

“Blender, sir.” 

“How quaint.” 

Hermione stared at him, frozen over the page. That wasn’t an insult, was it? It didn’t sound like an insult. It didn’t sound like something good, but he… hadn’t murdered her for bringing muggle implements into his lab, which was better than she anticipated. 

As if sensing her stare, he glanced up at her, one brow raised. “What?”

Her mouth popped open like a dumb fish, and she froze as she tried to think of something to say, but thankfully one of her timers saved her with a bright _**ding!**_ She hurried over, watching the color of the potion carefully as she added the next phase of ingredients before charming the stirring rod to perform its magic.

“What is this?”

She looked up and her heart did a weird flip. Snape was holding the lemon squeezer up, holding it by the very end of its handle with just two fingers, like one might pick up a dead rat. She couldn’t keep the grin from her face at his clear interest, as derisive as it might be. “Lemon squeezer.” 

“Lemons.” His nose wrinkled. 

Hermione bit her lip so she wouldn’t giggle. “I find it very helpful for juicing berries. The garlic press is better for roots and the like.” She held up the press. 

Snape squinted at it, looking unimpressed, then reached out slowly and snatched it from her hand like a wary snake. 

She let it go, and he wandered off with both of them.

Snape came back later with another set of ingredients to help with the infirmary list. Hermione watched him out of the corners of her eyes, he looked to be using the potion as an excuse to test out the toys she brought. Nonetheless, she liked the help, and the companionable silence they shared. 

After setting up a batch of anti-burn poultice, Snape wandered off to brew his own stuff--potions she didn’t recognize, with ingredients she’d never seen. Hesitantly, Hermione snuck closer as she waited for her cauldrons to be done. But he didn’t snap at her, instead just ignored her. 

His hands worked with a certainty and dexterity that Hermione felt bordered on preternatural, as if they were possessed by some ancient and little-known muse of slicing and dicing potions ingredients. It was mesmerizing as a dancing fire, satisfying like watching an artist paint, and fascinating in probably the nerdiest way possible. She watched how he tilted the knife to strip leaves from a plant, or how he judged the quality of a blossom just by feeling its petals. 

She was so scared he’d snap and chase her off that she hadn’t dared ask questions at first. Finally, though, something had to come out. 

“Professor?”

“What.”

“Why do you use that particular angle when cutting ginseng?”

“It has to do with the way the magic flows through the root,” he said, holding up a section cut with a perfect thirty degree angle and tossing it to her. Hermione barely caught it, her first instinct to dodge and apologize for bothering him while he was working. He continued to cut as she examined the little wedge of root. “Do you see the rings? You want them to form a balanced ellipse, with the semi-major axis about one and a half to two times the length of the semi-minor. The energies harmonize better in that formation, has to do with how the energy can focus at the same spots as the ellipse.” 

Hermione stared as her heart flip-flopped. Several different thoughts warred for dominance in her. The first was _‘That’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard.’_ _‘Say thank you’_ was close after that, followed by a series of _‘holy shit’_s in slightly different tones of voice and _‘that makes so much sense, I can see how that’d apply to dogwood, too,’_ as well as the very quiet very brief question of, _‘is this what love feels like?’_

Trying not to scream externally, Hermione managed, “Thanks for explaining. Is that… can that be applied to dogwood root, too?”

“Yes, with a similar ellipse shape. Ginger and mandrake use different geometries.” 

“Would ginger be… more eccentric of an ellipse? Because the energy flow is broader.” 

“Precisely.”

“So if mandrake has a triadic energy flow, would you use a perfect circle? Or would it make more sense to shave the root down to a triangular shape?”

“Huh.” At first she thought he was about to scold her, but instead he was staring through the wall, thoughtful. “Haven’t tried triangular. I suppose it’d depend on… how you shave it down, you’d have to be careful not to cut off the foci. We’ll have to try that next time I’m forced to deal with one of the shrieking bastards.” 

_We. Next time. _

This was definitely what love felt like. Okay, probably not, but Hermione was pretty convinced. He hadn’t even praised her. He hadn’t needed to. He’d just said she was right, and taught her to understand how. This was all she’d ever wanted. Everyone else was struggling to keep up with her, or even asking her to teach them, and here Snape was, casually discussing the theory behind potion making with her.

Fuck. She wished he’d do this with her all the time. 

Hermione managed to get in a few more question-and-answers before it was time for her to package the last of her potions and go patrol. By then her brain felt abuzz with information. Unfortunately there was _no one else she could share it with_ because no one else was as fucking nerdy as her, except for Professor Snape, _apparently._

After she’d cleaned and packed up, he still was using the lemon squeezer and garlic press, so she decided that they were no longer hers and relinquished them as a peace offering. Honestly, she was surprised she managed to retain her blender, considering how much he seemed to enjoy putting it on the super-fast mode. By the end of the day they had restocked the infirmary of almost all the required potions and poultices. 

She stopped at the door, as he technically hadn’t dismissed her. “Professor Snape?”

“What--? Oh.” Snape nodded, absently. “Dismissed.”

“Thank you, sir. It was a lot of fun.” 

***

That night, Severus drew up the paperwork for Hermione Granger’s apprenticeship. 

It was incomplete. He left out his own signature, and hers, of course. Then he ascended to the Headmistress’ office. 

“Keep this, don’t read it.”

Minerva arched a brow. 

“I’m giving it to you for safe keeping.” In case he decided to do something stupid, like destroy it, in the middle of a rage. 

And then he left. 

Severus was pretty sure that she would read it the instant he was out of the room, but that was…. well, not awful. Even if she didn’t read it, she probably knew what it was. (His resignation papers were kept under similar Severus-proof conditions, because he would’ve quit innumerable times if he’d had the forms.)

Before he went to patrols, he stopped to clean up a few things in the lab and prepare for the next day’s lessons. It was then that he noticed the two utensils--what had she called them, lemon squeezer and garlic press?--still in his room. He picked them up, by now quite familiar with how to hold them. The initials HG were written in her careful hand on the handles. 

Had Granger forgotten them?

No, that wasn’t right. Granger did not forget things. Granger hadn’t forgotten to leave a note when she got fucking petrified by a basilisk. 

Maybe she’d noticed him using them and had been too scared to ask for them back. That was slightly more in character, although given Granger’s penchant for obtaining things from him regardless of how they weren’t hers, he doubted that something as simple as asking would repel her. 

It puzzled him, but he wasn’t afraid to use them while they awaited reclamation by their rightful owner. They were terribly convenient, after all. If only he could figure out how to get his hands on one of those so-called ‘blenders.’

Severus went to bed that night thinking about plans to obtain copies of the rest of Granger’s goodies. 

The next few days that he saw Granger, he noticed a marked change in her demeanor. He pretended to ignore it, of course, while watching it very closely. First of all, she kept watching him with those big doe eyes of hers, all firewhiskey and caramel, but every time he stole a glance out of the corners of his eyes he could see absolutely no judgement in her expression. 

He started seeing her in the hallways--always sitting in the bay sill of one window by the Arithmancy classrooms, perfectly absorbed in reviewing any number of books, but he knew she was staring at him. It was an amateur attempt at spying. If it was spying. He really had no idea what her designs were. 

When they next brewed together, she asked him more questions, but questions he found significantly less irritating. Maybe it was because she phrased them as observations, or maybe it was because they were considerably more insightful. It no longer seemed like she was trying to show off or know it all, and more like she was trying to understand advanced theory. Perhaps it was the tone of her voice, how it had become less shrill and more honey, soft and unobtrusive. Or maybe it was because, despite his best attempts otherwise, she actually managed to get a legitimate conversation on potions out of him, and for once, he found himself talking to a peer and not an inferior. 

Towards the end of the session, she started humming. Severus found he didn’t mind. It was actually rather soothing. 

Which was not a thought he’d ever guessed he’d have. 

So of course he dismissed her early and snippily, then stormed off to Minerva to complain over a glass of scotch. 

“I mean, she just keeps watching me!” he said, angrily, leaning against the fireplace in only his frock coat. The robes had been ditched, it was after hours and they were drinking firewhiskey along with scotch. 

Minerva raised her eyebrows at him. She was reclining in an armchair, in slippers. “Who?”

“Granger!”

“Hermione?”

Severus rolled his eyes. “Is there any other Granger worth complaining about?”

Chuckling, Minerva took another sip of scotch. “She’s probably just trying to learn from you. Hermione thinks you’re brilliant, Severus, you must know that by now.” 

Waving a hand dismissively, Severus shook his head and gulped down the rest of his scotch. That wasn’t how you were supposed to drink scotch, but fuck it. “She’s done that forever. This is different. She’s been sitting in the hallways where she knows I walk.” 

“Coincidence.”

“Fuck coincidence,” Severus hissed. “It’s a shit attempt at spying. What the hell do she and Potter suspect me of this time?” He ran a hand through his hair, then stood up to pour himself another three fingers of scotch. “I mean, she’s even started holding conversations with me. Despite my efforts, may I add.” 

“Has it occurred to you that she might want to get to know you?”

He couldn’t hold back a scoff and a roll of his eyes as he flopped in the other armchair. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m not. Think about it, Severus. She’s been going out of her way to help you, make things easier for you, talk to you…”

Squinting, Severus sipped his scotch. “There were the muggle utensils she left behind.”

“The what?”

He tried to make a gesture of how one used the press and squeezer. “They’re these things muggles made, I think for cooking, but she charmed them to resist ingredients’ innate powers and now they’re beautiful little things for working with ingredients. Hell of a lot easier than a mortar and pestle.” 

Minerva was leaning in now, with one brow arched and a sly smile that Severus definitely didn’t like. “And she left them behind?”

“Yes. After… our second to last brewing session. She didn’t take them back during this last one, and I expected her to.” He frowned at the glass of golden fluid. Kind of like Granger’s eyes. Ugh, Granger. He took another sip. “I wonder if she’s trying to persuade me to return them. I thought she’d just steal them back.” 

To his surprise, Minerva snorted. “Steal them back. Severus, you’re really unaware of why she’s acting like this towards you?”

Pressing his lips together, Severus slid his gaze over to Minerva, matching her raised eyebrow with one of his own. “No, I just came all the way here to get drunk and bitch about a problem I knew the solution of.” 

With a secretive smile, Minerva withdrew into her chair and scotch. “Then I don’t think I can tell you. I suspect it’s a rather private matter for Miss Granger, and I doubt she’d want me talking about it.” 

Severus rolled his eyes. “Infinitely helpful, Minnie, as _always.”_

The next day brought... revelations.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So at this point I have ~80k written for the fanfic, and I expect it to clock in at around ~100k provided I don't a) get distracted by a subplot b) take longer than anticipated to resolve shit or c) get unnecessarily verbose. Just to let you all know what the state of completion is at!
> 
> I anticipate the actual writing being done within the next two weeks. I'm not certain whether posting daily or every other day or what would work best, but I'll probably keep at daily until I'm done or run out of buffer.

Severus had no visitors during his office hours that day, which was typical. People didn’t like asking him questions, although he felt he was being much more patient nowadays since he didn’t, you know, have to be at the beck and call of two masters. Apparently the students didn’t agree. 

He really liked freedom. Pity he had no idea what to do with it. 

“Professor!” 

Granger? What was she doing here? He glanced up to find her at the door, a little rosy-cheeked and with bright, excited eyes. She was carrying a small square package. “Yes?”

She made to enter, but hesitated. “I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”

Severus looked down at the papers he was grading that she was very much so interrupting, then back at her. “No.” 

Granger beamed, skipping over. Was this really the same girl who had endured the horrors of war? Had her extended exposure to Potter and Weasley addled her brain beyond repair? Why the bloody fuck was she always so happy around him? Maybe that was a good thing. Some of the greatest potions masters had been completely off their fucking rockers. 

Before Severus could analyze the implications of thinking of Granger as a potions mistress, she placed the box on the empty end of his desk and tapped on it with her wand. It expanded to the size of his torso.

Now that it was larger, he could see the details of it. The box was wrapped in a tasteful emerald green paper, with delicate silver lines detailing leaves. It was tied with silver and black twine twisted together. 

Granger beamed at him. He stared back at her. What was he supposed to do with this? She was watching him, waiting for him to make a move, and he had no idea what the hell she wanted.

Severus gestured vaguely at the box. “What, uh. ...Elaborate?”

“It’s for you?” she offered. 

She blinked as if puzzled, and Snape’s blood pressure rose as he realized he was out of the loop here. Was this some sort of prank? Had Minerva set her up to this? When would the other foot drop? He glared at her in accusation.

“I mean--I know there’s no real occasion, but…” Granger trailed off, toeing the ground. “Oh, Merlin, maybe it’s inappropriate? Did I overstep? I’m so sorry, Professor, I just-” she was looking increasingly chagrined and panicked “-I just thought since, well, we’ve all done such an abominable job giving you gifts over the years, and now that the war’s over everybody seems to be throwing medals at you and no offence but that doesn’t really seem like your thing, and I just thought that since you were so kind with dealing with me brewing and answering my questions and I wanted to get you something to say thank you, something that was maybe a little more you and I mean clearly I never knew you all these years so I probably fucked it up but I did my best and--”

Okay, Severus had a feeling he knew what was going on right now. The first objective was to get her to stop winding herself in those little anxious circles. He opened his mouth and swiftly interrupted, “They’re not.”

Hermione froze and stared at him.

“Medals,” he said, hurriedly, realizing he was considerably behind the Hermione-Granger-anxiety train and having to run to catch up. “I hate them. I tried to throw the Merlin one in the lake but Minerva wouldn’t let me.” He tried to make it sound offended, but he was pretty sure it came out like a pout. 

It was a minute before a little giggle came from her. 

“And I doubt that you’d fuck up…” he gestured at the gift, too scared to call it by its name, “that unless you involved the ginger one in your decision making process. Which, from the wrapping paper, it appears you did not.” He propped one elbow on the table and rested his chin on his palm. “By my estimate, almost all of your fuck-ups have been because of those boys you chaperone. The only one I can think of is the cat hair.” 

She turned bright red, but was still smiling. Severus decided he kind of liked that mischievous and not-very-guilty smile she was giving the floor. 

“Where the hell did you even brew that, anyway?”

Hermione bit her lip, as if trying to suppress the growing smile. It wasn’t working and Severus was very glad for it. “Girl’s lavatory, second floor,” she replied, sounding not at all sorry. 

Severus laughed. “Merlin’s balls, doesn’t that one have Never-shuts-up Netty?”

Wait. Did he just laugh? It was so natural he almost didn’t realize he did it. 

Apparently Granger had noticed, because she was looking at him with those wide eyes again. “M-Moaning Myrtle, yes.”

This was weird. It was almost as if he was having an actual, honest conversation. Almost all of his conversations for the past several decades had been him trying to get information, trying not to give up information, or pretending to be something that didn’t feel like him. Severus was loathe to cut it short, but he also wasn’t sure how long he could sustain it. 

Speaking of things he didn’t know how to handle, the present.

“I--” He licked his lips, staring at the present and trying not to look like it might bite him at any moment. “--appreciate the, uh.” Gift still felt like too much of an assumption. “Thank you,” he finished, lamely. 

Hermione nodded, and drew herself up a little more. “You don’t have to open it now,” she said. “I think you might not like it so maybe I shouldn’t be here.”

Was he that scary? Yes, Severus decided, he was. 

“I doubt I’ll dislike it,” he replied. “I believe the cliche is ‘it’s the thought that counts.’ But whatever you’re comfortable with.”

She blinked at him. Severus knew he wasn’t typically one to offer comfort, but he repaid kindness with kindness to the best of his stunted ability.

“Open it later,” she said, finally. “Then you can have time to test it to make sure it’s not a prank.” 

His mouth popped open to protest, but he couldn’t actually think of anything to say, because that was exactly what he had intended to do. So he just shut his mouth again. 

She giggled again. “For the record, I don’t blame you. There are charms involved, but they’re not things that should threaten you.” She headed towards the door. “I hope you like it. If you don’t I won’t be offended.”

“Have more faith in yourself, Granger.” 

She was already gone. He hoped she’d heard him. 

After he was certain she’d left, he closed the door and warded it, not particularly caring that he was ending his office hours early.

Severus stood in front of the box and stared it down. His wand hand itched to catch detection charms on it. Checking everything for threats was his way of life. But he trusted Granger, he realized. He trusted Granger. She wouldn’t prank him, not intentionally. Probably not unintentionally, either. She was aware enough to try and avoid getting framed like that. 

Was he just not checking for traps because she’d called him out on it? Was it legitimate trust, or guilt? Was she going to do some sort of double-cross where she convinced him that it was harmless by calling herself out so openly? 

… He was being ridiculous. He was letting his anxiety talk for him, just as Granger had done. Granger was clever but she was not manipulative in the slightest. She was about as straightforward as people came. 

Worst case scenario? It exploded and killed him. Wait. No, that was actually a decent outcome. He wouldn’t mind that. Worst case scenario was it exploded or was filled with taunts and didn’t kill him and ruined all of this tentative trust and joy he found in Granger’s company. 

Best case scenario? Severus had no idea what a best case scenario could even look like at this point. 

Still staring down the present, Severus wondered what it would feel like to trust a gift, open it, and see something that he legitimately wanted, not just something generic or misconstrued. His family had never been big on gift-giving. His mother had tried, but his father had quickly squashed that. Lily and he had exchanged gifts a few times. 

He remembered the last year they did. The years before, their gifts had always been intricate, personalized. Gifts that good friends would give each other. Or so he had believed. Severus, having missed her company over the year, spent three days planning out the exact present, a journal with a portrait painted on it of her and the flowers that were her namesake, spelled only to open for her. 

She got him soap. 

Severus took that as his exit. It had crushed him. Nowadays, he understood. He could hardly blame her for distancing herself from him as he threw himself deeper and deeper into the blood-purist, bigoted Death Eater cult. He knew how he must’ve appeared to her, an unwanted hanger-on with dangerously violent designs who’d had a crush on her a few years too long, and who couldn’t handle rejection. 

At the time, he’d thought, ‘No matter what, she didn’t deserve to die.’ That was why he had switched sides. Tom had made it abundantly clear that things which had brought Severus happiness--even if those memories had soured--were not allowed to exist. 

Tom had succeeded, even in his death. 

It wasn’t until years after Lily’s death, after years and years of pain and occlumency, that Severus started to really take a knife to his psyche. It’d started with just a night like any other, vomiting in the Headmaster’s bathroom--his bathroom. Severus had asked himself, ‘How the fuck did I get here?’

And that was when he started to focus down on his own actions. Not Lily’s death, not her friendships with other people. Him. His responses. 

It had always been him. 

It was then that Severus realized how much of a piece of shit he’d become. It wasn’t just that he was a horrid teacher, lackluster mentor, and generally bad-tempered, it was that he was a bigot about it. Sure, he could blame it on the part he had to play. But it wasn’t that. He knew that at some point, he’d genuinely held those ideas, genuinely believed them, even killed for them. That was what taking the Dark Mark meant. It didn't matter what he believed in now, or how 'reformed' he was, neither his Mark nor his past could ever be washed away. Deep in his pit of despair--a pit that was his fault alone, mind--he had wondered if an old dog could learn new tricks. A very old dog, with very little to care about, and even less to live for.

He hadn’t thought so.

Minerva and Septima had spent the summer trying to change that. They had succeeded, to a degree. Severus owed them his life, and any improvement he’d made. Yes, he’d been manhandled into taking up his position at Hogwarts again, but it was because Septima had sat him down and explained to him in no uncertain terms that he was not allowed to leave Minerva and her’s sphere of observation until they were certain he wasn’t a risk to himself--or anyone else--anymore. 

… Fuck, he should probably get them gifts, huh? Even if he hated being observed. 

Severus stared at the thing that had started all of this melodramatic rumination. The present sat there, utterly confusing. He still hadn’t tested it for pranks. Briefly, he entertained the notion that Granger could’ve charmed it to put him in a better mood, but the thought was mostly a joke and not a serious consideration. 

Finally, deciding he’d delayed enough, Severus gently tugged open the bow. The twine fell away. He considered tearing apart the paper as a sort of catharsis, but it was very pretty and very him, and Severus wondered what it’d look like as an accent wallpaper around his rooms. Deciding to keep it so he could mess with that later, he unwrapped the box carefully. 

A muggle box sat in front of him, proudly declaring _BLEND-O-MASTER 5000, YOUR ULTIMATE BLENDING MACHINE! BLEND FRUITS, VEGETABLES, ICE, FROZEN MEAT, THE ENTRAILS OF YOUR ENEMIES, CONCRETE, AND MORE!* _

Severus stared. 

Picking the box up, he moved it to a student desk (even if it blew up on him, that paper was still quite pretty), and then finished opening it. 

The box had already been opened, and he realized why. Granger had set up a complicated series of charms linked to the buttons on the machine. Different modes, different speeds, different containers… there were even different blades. She’d made him blades of copper, silver, and even glass spelled to be shatter-resistant. 

The charmwork must’ve taken hours, he realized as he inspected the thing closer. The instruction booklet was printed muggle-style, but there were a few addendums in Granger’s handwriting for things that she’d altered. 

Severus rocked backwards as if physically pushed, practically falling into the nearest chair.

He wanted to ditch the box and start playing, mixing up random shit to test the blender’s abilities. He wanted to stare at it and struggle to comprehend that bloody Hermione Granger, previously a know-it-all chit, had somehow become a calm and intelligent and thoughtful young woman who for some fucking unknown reason, had spent a serious amount of time and energy on getting him--_him, **him!**_\--a gift. And he wanted to do something to repay her, because he had never received something so… beautiful. 

She didn’t realize, did she? She didn’t realize that he was still the same grumpy, bigoted, mirthless old asshole that he’d been before. She didn’t realize he did this to himself. She thought he was actually worth something so thoughtful. 

Maybe this could be the start of some new tricks. 

It was a strange feeling to have hope. Even stranger to have something worth living for. It felt altogether uncomfortable and alien, too strange and too ephemeral to trust. But if there was one thing Severus knew, it was that he had nothing left to lose. 

A loose plan was sketched out in his mind by the time he made it to the door. Thank fuck he already had a gift ready. It hadn’t been intended as a gift, but it would suffice. He needed something else, something better to repay the terribly perfect thing that she’d just gotten him, but that could be dealt with later. 

Severus practically ran to Minerva’s office. He was panting when he hauled his ass up the stairs, cursing the fact that he was forty and his knees were no longer what they had been. 

“Severus?” Minerva greeted him, looking a little bewildered. 

“Give me the papers.” 

***

“D’you think he’s polyjuiced?”

They were sitting in the Great Hall, grabbing a late dinner. Ginny and Ron were both at practice. Harry, despite his love of quidditch, had decided to abstain from the team this year--he had enough on his plate with his work with the Aurors. It was baked potatoes and roast beef tonight, with salad. Harry was sitting across from her, while she corrected his Arithmancy homework and 

Hermione bit her lip and twirled a lock of her hair in one hand, scratching out some of his work with the pen in her other hand. “I don’t think he’d be okay with someone else taking his face, even if it did give him reprieve from us students.” 

“Yeah, that’s fair. I just can’t believe he, you know, laughed.” Harry paused, drumming his fingers thoughtfully on his cheek. “Possessed?”

“Maybe.” She finished one last correction and passed his homework back to him. “You’ll pass the answers on to Ron, yeah?”

“Thanks,” he said, tucking it away. “And probably. Dunno yet. Might make him squirm, he’s been a real ass recently.”

At that, she let out a laugh and grabbed some more pumpkin juice. “I’m aware. At least he hasn’t gotten me in trouble with Professor Snape recently.”

Harry shovelled potato into his mouth. “I noticed. I don’t know if you’ve seen, but Snape has been a great deal more threatening towards Ron when he thinks you’re not looking.”

She shook her head and rolled her eyes. As if. “Don’t be silly.”

Harry glanced up at her, eyes perfectly serious. “I’m not shitting you, Hermione.”

Hermione snorted. “Bullshit,” she pressed on, regardless of the gravity in his gaze. “Professor Snape has barely managed to tolerate me in class, even if he’s more relaxed when there aren’t as many people around. I’ve still barely managed to keep out of his hair.” She chuckled, although it was dry. “I wish I could figure out whether he likes me taking some of the brewing work off of his shoulders or not. I was hoping it’d be helpful, but I still can’t tell.” Hermione paused, tilting her head thoughtfully. “Maybe he doesn’t know, either.” 

She looked at Harry for a response, but he was staring at her quite fixedly and making no move to open his mouth, so she continued. 

“Did you know, I think he’s had some sort of running snark with me since the beginning of the year?” she said, as she cut up the pork. “He kept docking small amounts of points for ‘dawdling’ but I’m pretty sure he was docking them for poor taste in men. They always happened after Ron would do something stupid.” Hermione laughed, authentically this time, even if it was a little self-deprecating. “I think he’s probably right. I feel like I should be honored that Professor Snape has been inconvenienced enough to make commentary on my shitty love life.” 

Harry was still staring pointedly at her. Was that fear? 

“Harry?” Hermione asked. “What’s wrong?”

Harry swallowed, hard. “Hello, Professor Snape,” he said, looking behind and above Hermione. “What can we do for you?”

“Fuck-” Hermione whirled around to stop herself from finishing the word. “Professor! I’m so sorry-”

He was standing there like a black-clad monolith of displeasure. It took Hermione another heartbeat before she realized that the rest of the room, while not silent, was certainly a good deal quieter than she would’ve liked it to be, and was watching them. Hermione felt like her pumpkin juice had been spiked with pepper-up, given how hot her face was. His expression was emotionless, but Hermione knew better than to judge off of that. 

Snape reached long pale fingers into his robe and drew out a scroll, holding it out to her. 

Tentatively, afraid he’d snap, Hermione reached out and gently took it from him. 

“Look these over,” he said. “Then we will discuss with the Headmistress.”

He whirled on a heel and was gone, out of the Great Hall before Hermione could draw breath. 

There was another beat before conversation returned. Hermione slid her gaze back over to Harry. 

They stared at each other for a moment before she couldn’t stand it anymore. With a groan, Hermione buried her beet-red face in her hands. 

“Fucking Circe, Harry, how many people heard me being an absolute--dunderhead?”

“Just him,” Harry replied. “The talking didn’t die down until after you finished. Dunno if that makes it better or worse.” 

“Fuck,” Hermione mumbled into her palms. “I don’t think that helps.” 

His hand patted her shoulder from across the table. “It can’t be that bad, can it?” Hermione glared at him from behind her curtain of hair. “Okay, dumb question, it can definitely be that bad.” He paused, then looked at the scroll she still clutched. “What’d he give you?”

“I have no idea,” she mumbled. “Oh, Merlin, he mentioned the Headmistress, didn’t he? That means it’s bad. Probably notice of my expulsion.” 

Harry leaned back with a roll of his eyes. “Fucking hell, Hermione. They can’t expel you, you’re the best student in decades.”

“They can definitely still expel me.”

Laughing at her misfortune in the loving way only a true friend can, Harry nodded at the scroll. “Open it. You’re killing me with the suspense, here.”

With a sigh, Hermione took the scroll and unrolled it with shaking fingers. It must’ve been feet of parchment, all written in Snape’s sharp hand. 

The title of the pages caught her breath and stole it. 

_Contract of Apprenticeship between Professor Severus Tobias Snape, Master of Potions, and Hermione Jean Granger, Prospective Apprentice._

She unrolled the parchment more, scanning down the list of duties to the very bottom of the scroll. Under “Signature of Master,” Snape had already signed. Next to his signature glistened a seal in gorgeous, glittering emerald green wax. The seal detailed a crow volant on a shield, encircled by heather sprigs, with the words ‘HOUSE OF PRINCE’ beneath it. 

“Fuck,” she breathed. 

He already signed it.

Hermione shoved her plates of food to the side, scrambling for her quill while Harry shouted at her to tell him what the fuck was going on. She snatched up her quill and dipped it, moving to where she needed to sign. 

“Hermione, holy shit, he’s offering you--did you even read it?!”

“No,” she said. “I don’t give a fuck what he wants, I’d give him my damn firstborn if I had to.”

Harry grinned at her. “I doubt he wants to deal with more kids.” 

She managed a smile as she finished signing her name. “There.”

“...Fuck, he even used a seal? This is incredible.” Before Hermione could answer, Harry had lunged over the table to wrap her tight in a hug. “I’m so proud of you. You’re going to be the most brilliant Potions Mistress ever. Now maybe you should read the terms while you still have a chance to vanish your signature.”

With a laugh, Hermione hugged him back. When he released, she returned to the scroll, and began to review the terms of her new apprenticeship. Harry leaned over the table, munching and reading with her. 

“So you’re going to finish up this semester early, then come back after break as his apprentice?” Harry said, pointing to a paragraph.

“Looks like it,” Hermione replied quietly, chewing her lip. “I have to get a series of minimum scores on my N.E.W.T.s… that’s going to be terrifying.”

“Hermione.” Harry’s tone was soft, loving. “I know your anxiety will never listen, but I hope you know that there’s absolutely no way you’re going to do poorly on your N.E.W.T.s.”

She sighed. “Hopefully.”

“It’s just more to worry about for you, and that’s the bitch. Right?”

Hermione paused, nibbling her lip, then nodded. She reached out and squeezed Harry’s hand. “You know me too well.”

He laughed. “I have a brilliant idea. Once you’re done reading that? Let’s get registered as siblings at the Ministry.”

“Brilliant indeed.” Hermione didn’t even hesitate. Harry was already her brother, as far as she was concerned, and it’d be nice to have family again. “Will they even let that happen?”

Harry shrugged. “No idea. But I bet between the two of us we can browbeat them into submission.”

Giggling, Hermione clinked glasses of pumpkin juice with him.


	9. Chapter 9

The Ministry officials, to their credit, were bewildered but did in fact have legislature in place to allow the two of them to become adoptive siblings. It changed basically nothing, except now they could act for each other in medical emergencies. 

Honestly, that was a relief to Hermione. She knew Harry would take care of her if something like the basilisk happened again, and since her parents… well, no longer knew she existed, it was really nice to have family in the world again. 

Harry was feeling much the same way, and said as much. They talked about it on their way back to Hogwarts, and upon entering the grounds, an owl dropped a request from the Headmistress to meet with Hermione on both their heads. 

Hermione said her goodbyes to her newly-legal brother and headed off to the Headmistress’ office. She clutched the scroll of parchment tightly in her hand, hoping she wasn’t getting it too wrinkled or sweaty in her eagerness. 

As she crested the stairs, she found McGonagall beaming at her. Snape hovered behind her, looking marginally less angry than usual, which Hermione considered a compliment. 

McGonagall got up as Hermione entered, wrapping her tightly in a hug. Hermione hugged her back, suddenly feeling very warm and loved despite all of the hell the last seven years had been. 

“Hermione,” McGonagall whispered. “I’m so proud of you.” She withdrew from the hug and grasped Hermione strongly by the upper arms. “You’ve read the scroll?”

Hermione nodded. “And signed. If that’s okay.” She glanced at Snape. 

He just inclined his head. “I would not have written it up, let alone signed it, if I was not prepared to enter such a contract.”

That made Hermione want to do a victory lap. Snape was not one for praise. His actions had always spoken louder than his words. And this was the greatest compliment that he could’ve ever paid her.

“Brilliant.” She knew she was probably smiling at him like a loon. “Thank you, Professor. I mean it.” 

“You are not in the habit of lying, Miss Granger.”

She laughed. “I try my best to avoid it.” 

The shadow of a smile, like some half-forgotten memory, flickered on his lips before it was gone. 

“Sit down, Miss Granger,” McGonagall said. “We have a lot to go over.”

Hermione took a seat across from the Headmistress, Professor Snape seated beside her. He was silent while McGonagall went through the expectations of apprentices, as well as the shifts and additions to her duties before and after her official graduation. 

It was only when the Headmistress got to the fact that Hermione would be the first apprentice at Hogwarts in nearly a decade that Snape spoke up. 

“Headmistress,” he said. “I know you mean to impress upon Miss Granger the magnitude of her achievements, and speak with a great amount of affection. But I believe she may be interpreting it--unwillingly, mind you--as an added responsibility.” 

McGonagall stared at him, open-mouthed, then nodded. “A good point, Severus. I apologize if I made you more anxious, Hermione.” 

Snape leaned forward in his seat, fixing Hermione with those black eyes. She felt once again pinned, like a butterfly in an entomologist’s collection. “Miss Granger, I have not taken an apprentice before in my life. I have no desire to stick to tradition blindly. This-” he waved a hand loftily at the paper “-is not meant to be a fixed or rigid structure. It is meant to be a foundation upon which we can build a relationship in which I am actually able to teach you, rather than just snarling obscenities from the front of the classroom. Am I clear?”

Hermione stared, her words caught in her mouth. Finally, she managed to open her mouth, and the first thing that spilled out was the exact words he’d given her in parting: “Give yourself more credit, Professor.” 

Snape let out a single bark of laughter, so dry and sudden that both Hermione and McGonagall jumped. “Touché,” he said, the corner of his lips barely twitching upwards. “I simply find myself a realist, Miss Granger. This will be a shift from the established dynamic, and it may shift several times, until we find something that works.” 

“That seems very reasonable, Professor,” Hermione replied. “I appreciate you being up front about this.” 

He nodded, then leaned back in his seat. 

A sudden and very worrying thought came into Hermione’s mind. She glanced between McGonagall and Snape. “Sir, I hope that my gift didn’t come across as any sort of bribe, I meant--”

He made a dismissive, sharp flick with his hand. “Not at all. These papers were written up before then.”

Before then. Hermione managed a nod before she turned back to McGonagall, trying to wrap her mind about this new information. Snape had my apprenticeship contract drafted… at least for a few days. He was thinking about this. 

She wanted to borrow a time turner and spin it until she could tell her younger self that one day, Snape would actually consider her smart enough to be his apprentice--his only apprentice, she noted with just a hint of smugness and a whole dose of awe. 

After they had handled the rest of the logistics, Hermione asked him a few general questions about her duties as a TA. She’d be dealing with the younger children, unsurprisingly, and helping him prepare for and grade upper-level classes. 

“I wouldn’t put you in charge of peers your age,” he said, in the same tone that he said ‘Gryffindor.’ Hermione remembered then that he’d been hired at only twenty-one. He knew from experience. 

“Thank you, Professor. I appreciate it.” 

Another dismissive, swift flick of his hand. Apparently his tactic to respond to thanks was to just ignore it. Honestly, Hermione couldn’t blame him. 

After they finished discussing her TAing duties, it was Snape’s turn to ask questions. “Miss Granger. I would like to know why you wish to apprentice under me.”

Hermione rolled that one around in her head. She knew that other Potions Masters existed, as well as other disciplines, many of which would be happy to have her, and many of which she would love to master in--particularly Arithmancy, and Transfiguration. But Snape in particular drew her in, as did potions. 

“May I be blunt with my answer, sir?”

“Please do.” He was still leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled in front of his lips.

She licked her lips. Even if he’d given her permission to be an ass, she still didn’t want to offend him. 

“Potions has… never been my strongest subject,” she began. “At least, it never felt like it. I think that’s maybe why I’m drawn to it. Honestly, it’s also partially your fault, Professor. With all of my love and respect to my other professors-” she paused to smile at McGonagall, who was still positively beaming “-and no offence, of course, Headmistress-” to Hermione’s great relief, the smile on McGonagall’s face didn’t falter in the slightest “-I have always been told that I perform nearly perfectly. It has always been expected of me, and my failure has never been tolerated--although that pressure is more self-imposed. Except for you, Professor Snape. Intentionally or not, you have always pushed me to understand more, to learn beyond the text, and to question what I read. I think that’s why I want to apprentice in potions, and under you specifically. Rote memorization isn’t enough to survive. I must learn not just creativity, but also hone my critical thinking skills, if I’m to continue to improve myself, in any field.” 

Snape was smiling. She could barely see the quirk of his lips from behind his hands, but Hermione dared to believe it nonetheless. 

“Eloquently put, Miss Granger.”

Hermione hesitated, then asked, “If I may--why did you choose to accept me as an apprentice?”

He folded his hands in his lap, smiling openly now. “What, fishing for praise?”

Her eyes nearly bugged out of her skull. “Oh, no, I was just curious, sir, I’m so sorry--”

Snape laughed again. “I’m just teasing, Miss Granger.” 

Oh, like she was supposed to know _Snape_ was capable of _teasing._ Hermione would’ve rolled her eyes if she wasn’t about to vomit from fear. 

“Simply put, you’re the only student that has ever made me want to actually want to teach them. Admittedly, I still find a classroom setting insufferable. And rote memorization unimpressive, but you’ve come a long way from that. You also possess the rare quality of being able to call me out on my bullshit.” 

Hermione laughed then, unable to contain herself. “I’ve been trying to be nice about it, sir.”

“Don’t.” He waved a hand again, although not nearly as sharp about his dismissal. “It’s merited when you point it out. Respect and critique must be a two-way street from now on.” 

“If you _insist,_ sir, I would _happily continue.”_

McGonagall clapped her hands together, smiling at them with a radiant, unfaltering, extremely Scottish love. In fact, her expression was so warm that Hermione briefly wondered if the Headmistress had something to drink, or if she was possessed by a particularly cheery Dumbledore. “I’m so proud of both of you. This is going to be wonderful. I can’t wait to have Hermione as a peer on staff. I can finally invite her to poker.” 

Hermione froze. “--Poker?”

Snape rolled his eyes. “You cannot corrupt my apprentice.” 

“My little lioness cub is growing up!” 

“Headmistress…” Hermione squinted at her, trying to ascertain whether or not she was sober. “Are you alright?”

“She did indeed have firewhiskey before this meeting, if that’s what you’re asking,” Snape muttered. 

“Ah. _Brilliant.”_ The sarcasm was nearly as heavy as Snape’s.

Snape’s lips quirked into a smile for a moment. Hermione wanted to describe it as ‘Snape smiling,’ but that felt too unnatural still. His smiles, for the brief moment they existed, seemed to be almost involuntary, as if it was a response he had long smothered finally returning to the surface. 

“Do you have any other questions, Hermione?” McGonagall asked. 

Hermione paused to think about it, and was about to say no, but then her gut dropped through her chair and her heart leaped up and lodged itself at the back of her mouth. She tried to swallow it down, but she could feel her pulse, fluttering by the base of her tongue. “Er--yes,” she said, trying not to sound defeated and failing utterly. “I have… uh.” Shit. McGonagall knew about her parents, but not the full extent of it, just that she wasn’t in contact with them anymore. Snape didn’t know anything at all. “Finances,” she managed, finally, around the huge lump that was suddenly constricting her airway. “As Headmistress McGonagall knows, I am… no longer in contact with my parents. I have an account at Gringott’s, and it can probably cover the apprenticeship, I would just like to know…” She was trying to think of how to finish that sentence when Snape spoke up. 

“Miss Granger, if you think that Minerva here wouldn’t personally fund your apprenticeship, I have some news for you,” he said, holding up a finger before Hermione could explode with protests about not having other people pay for ridiculously expensive things. “You will be given a small salary as befits any other member of Hogwarts staff, which I believe will be above the normal apprenticeship salary due to the fact that you’ll be supplying the infirmary with large quantities of potions. Additionally, you will receive a stipend to purchase potions supplies. If that is not enough, I run a small potions business on the side and can certainly employ you there.” 

“I’ll rob a bleeding bank if I have to,” Minerva muttered, rummaging around in the drawers and pulling out a canteen. 

“That’s our signal to wrap the meeting up,” Snape said with a roll of his eyes. 

Hermione turned to him. “I know I’ve said it a lot, but--thank you, professor. I mean it. Truly.” 

Another smile. This one stayed for a little longer than the others before it fled. “The pleasure is mine, Miss Granger. If you have more questions, you know where to find me. Good night.” 

And with that, he billowed away. 

McGonagall poured two shot glasses of firewhiskey, and slid one over to Hermione, who caught it instinctively. Bewildered, she stared at the golden liquid, noticing too late that Minerva had clinked their glasses together. “To your apprenticeship!” The Headmistress proceeded to shotgun the liquid. 

Hermione stared at the glass, then tentatively raised it to her lips and barely managed to gulp down the stuff. It was like swallowing hand sanitiser. “Cheers,” she wheezed as McGonagall laughed good-naturedly and took the glass back. “Fuck, that stuff’s strong.” 

***

“HERMIONE!” A ginger-topped blur flung her arms around Hermione as soon as she entered the Gryffindor common room, toppling them both over onto a nearby couch. “Oh my Merlin! Harry told me everything and I’m so excited! How’d it go how’d it go how’d it go!!”

“Ginny-!” Hermione managed, between happy laughs of her own, smothered as she was between Ginny’s soft ginger hair and the couch cushions. Harry ran in after Ginny, breaking into a wide grin at Hermione’s smile. 

“Sorry for stealing your thunder, I was too excited,” Harry told her as he sat down across from them. “I left the other news for you to break, though.”

“Other news?” Ginny sat up, looking between them with wide eyes. “What other news? Wait, Hermione, you have to tell me how your meeting with McGonagall and Snape went!” 

“Well,” Hermione began, sighing deeply. 

“--Why does your breath smell like firewhiskey?”

Hermione giggled. “Oh. Headmistress McGonagall toasted with me for my apprenticeship.” She stared at the rug and blushed. Blushed more, that was. Her face was already pretty warm. 

“So you got it!” Harry exploded. 

“Yes! Professor Snape’s taking me on. I’m--” Hermione shook her head, trying to blink away the happy tears. “I could never have dreamed, I mean, I never thought he’d do it.” She wanted to smile to emphasize the point, but she hadn’t stopped smiling yet. “I mean, as long as I do okay on the N.E.W.T.s. Apparently Professor Snape will help me review.” 

Ginny gaped at her. “Really? He must really like you, he’s normally not even that helpful with his snakes. And you’re a Gryffindor!” 

Harry rolled his eyes. “He’s been much better after the war. I think it was part of the act, you know.” 

“Either way, I can’t believe it’s real.” She closed her eyes for a moment. Apprentice to Snape. “We even talked about finances and everything and it’ll all work out. It’s actually in my reach, you guys,” she whispered, unable to dare say it louder. 

“Finances.” Harry stared at her, suddenly concerned. “You know that my Gringotts account is yours, right? Like, I have a bunch of money in there, I can--”

Hermione shook her head. “Harry, I can’t steal your bloody inheritance,” she said with a laugh. 

“Our inheritance now, remember?”

Her eyes widened. “Damnit, Harry, you did that on purpose!”

He laughed. “I didn’t, I promise. You know I’m not capable of that much scheming. But it works out rather well in hindsight, doesn’t it?” he asked, grinning like a devil. 

Hermione rolled her eyes at him, lightly swatting at him before pulling him into a hug with Ginny. 

“What are you guys talking about? Is that the other news?” Ginny asked. 

“Yeah,” Hermione replied. “We officially adopted each other as siblings earlier today.” 

Ginny squeaked in joy and threw her other arm around both of them. “That’s incredible! I’m so happy for both of you. You deserve it. Your families have been torn apart enough by this dumb Voldy bullshit.” 

Hermione snorted. “I can’t wait until Rita gets her hands on the news. Watching her twist things is always great fiction.” 

Harry rolled his eyes. “I’ll hex the shit out of her, one of these days.”


	10. Chapter 10

Severus remembered her at the trial. 

He’d been bound in magic-dampening chains, and the Aurors hadn’t even deigned to remove them for the fucking trial. If that wasn’t “guilty until proven innocent,” Severus wasn’t sure what was. They hadn’t fed him properly, and had dragged him out of St. Mungo’s as soon as they could legally rip him away from the life-supporting tubes, and cut off from his magic, Severus could barely sustain himself. 

But Granger and Potter--damn the two of them--had showed up in practically matching get-ups. Potter wore a full suit with a green and silver tie, and argued with logic and facts for Severus’ innocence. Severus hadn’t even recognized Granger at first. She had worn a black pencil skirt over tights and ankle boots with a chunky heel, along with a green satin blouse and black blazer. Her hair had been swirled up into a bun, and she had rained hellfire on the entire fucking courtroom. 

It was when she opened her mouth and began her attack that he realized it was her. By the time she was done with her impassioned speech (which had contained a number of accusations against Ministry officials for being so inept against Voldemort’s rise as to require a man to sacrifice his life to double-agent-ship to resolve the conflict) Severus wasn’t sure whether he was hallucinating or not. 

It had been a clearly coordinated effort. Severus had been watching them in the papers for weeks at that point, with Potter playing the boy hero and Granger cleaning up his mess, as she always did. While in their public appearances it seemed like he was the one guided by pathos and Granger the logic behind him, in their court appearance the roles had been completely flipped. Potter had even looked like he tried to constrain her at certain points. 

He had not succeeded--not in that regard, at least. 

At the end of the trial, Severus wasn’t just acquitted, he was given an Order of Merlin, first class--the very same medal he’d told Hermione that he tried to throw into the lake. It wasn’t a lie. He had tried, and more than once. It felt too unearned. It felt like the only reason the Ministry had given it to him had been to assuage their own guilt at their ineptitude, so relentlessly pointed out by one muggleborn witch who’d been surrounded by loss and death. 

Severus quite liked her ability to call people out on bullshit. 

By the end of her speech, some of her hair had come loose, and sparked and floated around her head like a halo. Severus found it strange, because he felt like that was the second time he’d seen an angel in his entire life, and both times were after he was bit by the fucking snake. 

Well, he didn’t technically see the angel the first time. He couldn’t remember much about it at all. It was right after the snake, he knew that much, after he’d given his memories away to Potter. It didn’t align with the story Minerva had given him of how he was found by herself and the other staff after the battle, but Severus had always brushed it off as a hallucination. At least, until the day in court. That was when it took on more than just an air of death-induced fantasy. 

He just knew he was lying on the ground, and the pain was everywhere, and he saw blood swamping his eyes like tears, felt blood pooling around him, smelled his life spilling out, tasted the iron on his tongue, and heard an angel singing. 

***

Severus had taken to watching them. 

Muggles, that was. As horrible as it smelled and as loud as it was, he’d become rather fond of muggle London. Minerva had started bringing him here over the summer, determined as she was to make him stop being such a bigot, regardless of whether or not he intended to live. 

“Bloody hell, Severus. You can’t change what’s already happened, but I’ll be fucked if I don’t get you to at least die a decent man,” she’d said. “You deserve it.”

Severus had disagreed. But he found muggle London calming, in a way. There were no expectations on him here, just anonymity. 

...And he did love their little computers. He had purchased something called a Gameboy, made by a thing called Nintendo, and it had this curious little game called Pokemon on it. The Pokemen (he thought, he wasn’t sure about pluralization) could battle and seemed to live in a world of harmonious socialism. Severus had gotten quite good at it. He’d charmed it to work even when he couldn’t recharge it. 

The music, though, was the first thing that really drew some respect out of him. Wizarding music had always been atrocious, and Severus had always thought of himself as someone who hated music. It fit, since he was someone who also hated fun, flowers, puppies, kittens, and everything nice. 

As it turned out, Severus only hated wizarding music. He rather liked some of the stuff that the muggles had on their CDs, and found himself a fan of jazz, classical, a group known as Queen, and basically anything rock with a political message. Minerva had found him listening to one of his CDs one day and he’d nearly murdered her on the spot. 

Most of the time in muggle London, he just sat at cafes and read. He mostly read newspapers. He liked the technology section, and learning more about those things they called ‘stocks,’ which was an interesting way of having fake money. Severus was interested in how things would go if the goblins figured that one out, stubborn and brilliant as they were. 

It was after he was done with one of his normal masala chai that he saw the gathering. Wrapping his scarf tighter around his neck, he slipped closer, falling in with the crowd as he listened. 

Severus didn’t know what they were talking about. He didn’t need to. He felt the understanding in his bones, but more importantly in his blood, which raged suddenly with familiar adrenaline. The rhetoric was all he needed to hear. It was laced with fear and hatred and xenophobia and violence and Severus suddenly knew what it looked like from the outside, a position he’d never had before. 

It was terrifying. 

It didn’t matter that they were muggles, it didn’t matter that he could defend himself or stop them from whatever they intended to do. What mattered was the intent. Dark enough for any curse, bloody enough to bury a world--wizard or muggle--beneath its hatred. Fascism. 

Severus clapped his hand over the Dark Mark, waiting for the familiar pulse. It never came, but that certainly didn’t help. 

Glancing around, he checked that no one was watching, then cast a swift, wandless and wordless spell to ensure he’d dodge the ministry’s wards and watchful eyes. Then, not particularly caring that it would look incredibly suspicious, Severus promptly set the man on fire. 

He stayed around to make sure it did some proper damage before heading back towards the apparition point. 

***

Even if Hermione’s apprenticeship was secured, she still felt obligated to not fuck things up. She was still Head Girl, she still had responsibilities, and it’d be bad form to go crazy now that her future was secured. 

Not that she was planning on it. But one night, well past midnight when she was finally done studying, Crooks suddenly sat up alert. 

“Crooks?”

The cat leaped down from his spot at the foot of her bed and trotted out the door. Which was closed. He just went right through it. 

Groaning, Hermione threw on a robe over her pajamas, grabbed her wand, and hurried after her undead cat. Quickly, she cast a Patronus to tell Harry what was up, then hurried after her cat. 

Crooks was making a beeline for the parapets. Hermione could barely keep up with him. He darted around a corner and a moment later Hermione turned it and--

There was a sudden wall of blackness in front of her and faster than she could think, her wand was at the neck of Professor Snape. 

She registered what was going on a moment later and her eyes nearly bugged out as she withdrew her wand and began to apologize. 

Before she could even manage a ‘sorry,’ Snape shook his head and placed a finger to his lips in the sign for silence. He didn’t seem even alarmed. 

Hermione nodded, then peeked around and saw where Crooks had gone. She stepped around her Professor and hurried after him, realizing only a moment later that Snape was equally intent on following the cat, seemingly without direction from her. 

“You can _see_ Crooks?!” she hissed out. 

Snape gave her a Look of indecipherable meaning, and nodded, before they followed the cat up to the roof of the Astronomy Tower. Without pausing at the top of the steps, Snape hurried forward and crouched down, hiding behind one of the crenelations. He motioned for Hermione to do the same. 

She snatched Crooks down from his perch atop the crenelations and the three of them peeked out from behind the stone at the woods. 

The lights began a moment later. 

It would’ve been beautiful, if it didn’t instill such an immense sense of dread in her stomach. Ghostly blue light oozed from the ground, and a single figure in a black hood picked their way through the unkept grasses. 

The figure reached out and placed one hand on the stone memorial that had been erected for all the fallen. With a single, deep crack, the white stone edifice split down the middle. 

There was no protective magic linked to the memorial, Hermione realized. The figure was breaking it because they hated the memorial, not for a tactical reason. 

Her gut cinched tight like a noose. 

The figure moved across the ground and knelt in the grass. Hermione closed her eyes and threw her mind back to that day. That had been where one of the giants had fallen. She tightened her grasp around Crooks, and readied her wand, summoning her magic to her. 

One of Snape’s hands clamped around hers, keeping her from raising her wand. She glared at him, unafraid of reprisal. But he simply shook his head mutely, eyes filled with a warning. 

“They are tightly warded,” he whispered. “The last time Minerva and I tried… we had no effect.”

Minerva. Minerva knew. 

Hermione was rather relieved, truthfully. McGonagall at least knew what she was doing. As much as she hated it, she kept her wand down, but was unable to stop the creeping snarl on her face. 

The lights had coalesced around the figure like a shield of teal, but a moment later they surged into the ground. Hermione bit down her scream as a huge, hulking mound of flesh rose from the ground, shuffling off towards the forest. 

A moment later, the lights faded, and the figure followed the undead giant. 

“Fuck,” said Snape, breaking the silence. 

Hermione glared at where the giant had gone. “Do the centaurs know?”

Snape shrugged, glancing at her. “I’d assume so. They have not been forthcoming.” 

She chewed her lip. “I’ll have to talk to them. Ensure they’re safe.” 

With a long-suffering sigh, Snape turned back to the forest. “Does Potter know? I don’t suppose I could persuade the two of you to stay out of it.” 

“Yes and no, respectively.” 

He made a noncommittal noise. “Was worth a shot.” For a moment longer, he stared at the forest, and then turned to Hermione. His brow furrowed as he stared at the cat clutched tightly to her chest, as if he’d realized something. “Miss Granger. Is this your… feline?” 

It was the same tone with which he said threats, specifically. Hermione looked at Crooks. “Crookshanks, that’s his name. He was.”

One imperious brow crept upwards. _“Was,_ Miss Granger?”

“Yes.” She held up Crooks to him, and gestured to where the heartbeat on a cat would be. Snape did not move to check it. “You see, Crooks died about two years ago.”

Hermione wasn’t sure she’d ever seen Snape speechless. Maybe he had been at his trial, but she was pretty sure that was because he’d been mostly dead. This was just stunned silence, plain and simple. 

“Weird,” he said, finally. 

She snorted a laugh and situated Crooks in her lap, scratching at his neck. “He’s been staying in my room, I think. I try and keep him there.”

“Try and fail, Granger.”

Hermione looked guilty, staring through the ground. “I hope he hasn’t been too much trouble. He’s been walking through doors and wards.”

“I’ve noticed.” 

“He’s a good cat, Professor, he’s just a little too smart for his own good sometimes,” she mumbled, cradling him. Hermione hadn’t forgotten how much she’d missed her Crooks. “He tried to eat Pettigrew.” 

Snape made a noise that sounded suspiciously close to a snort of laughter. “Mm. I suppose he is forgiven for his mischief, then. He has been useful in detecting this particular intruder.” 

Hermione hid a smile by scratching at Crooks’ ears, which he received with dignified acceptance. Finally, she glanced up at him, and noticed that he swallowed awfully hard. Was he still uncomfortable with humor, or just with her? “Sir? Do you think it’d be alright if we… collected Harry and talked to Minerva about what’s going on?”

Snape froze for a moment, and then nodded. He stood up, and offered her a hand, which she took with a murmured thanks, hauling herself up. 

Shortly after, they had indeed collected Harry and made it to the Headmistress’ office. Well, Harry had found them, with a combination of the map and cloak. McGonagall made tea while the other three made themselves comfortable. Or, as it were, uncomfortable--as Snape couldn’t stop pacing and Hermione was cradling Crooks like he was her baby. 

Once McGonagall poured cups and had a seat, the talk began in earnest. 

“So,” McGonagall began. “First, Severus. What occurred tonight?”

“The memorial’s broken again,” he said, his voice a baritone drawl. 

“Bloody hell, it’s becoming a real nuisance,” McGonagall muttered. 

Snape arched a brow at her, but didn’t comment. Instead he continued, “Typical ritual, but one of the giants was raised tonight.”

“Raised?” Harry interrupted. He looked at Hermione with wide eyes. “Is it--”

Hermione nodded at him. “Just like the dream. It looked like an inferius.”

McGonagall held up a finger at them. “Hold that thought. Is that all, Severus?”

“Yes, Minerva.” Snape stopped pacing, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall beside the fireplace. 

“Alright.” McGonagall turned to them, folding her hands around her teacup. “Now, if you two would be so kind as to inform us what you know, that would be excellent.” 

“We’ve been having dreams,” Harry started, fiddling with the cloak pooled in his lap and glancing between it, McGonagall, and Snape. “And I say ‘we,’ because… well, everyone else is just getting nightmares, but Hermione and I… we can coordinate them.” 

“We started giving each other signals, code words,” Hermione explained. Harry nodded. “Then the next morning, we’d confirm with each other. It wasn’t basic stuff, either.”

“The other night Hermione made me memorize the Polyjuice recipe.” Harry did not look pleased. Hermione couldn’t keep a small smile off her face. 

“I was wondering how you knew that so well on your most recent quiz,” Snape muttered. “I should’ve guessed Granger was behind it.” 

For his part, Harry beamed at him cheekily. “Thank you, sir. I didn’t realize you were so impressed with my performance.”

Snape rolled his eyes, but didn’t comment. 

Hermione ducked her head to hide her grin. “If I knew this was what it took to get him to study, I would’ve tried it sooner.”

McGonagall looked equal parts amused and exasperated. “Focus, please. What did the dreams entail?”

Hermione glanced at Harry, all of her mirth suddenly stolen. He swallowed.

“I can’t… see much,” Hermione admitted. She held up a hand before Snape could make a disappointed noise. “But what I can see, it seems like there’s a monster, made up of bodies. I think, especially given tonight, that it’s probably the bodies of the people who… died out there.” She rubbed at her eyes. “I tried to give them a proper rest, I really did, but that… person… doesn’t care.”

“It’s huge,” Harry said, quietly. “The… thing, you know, whatever. It looks like a dragon, almost? Made out of the bodies. And the head is horrible. The teeth are like a leech’s, or a lamprey’s. Concentric circles. Hermione’s…”

He looked at her, and for the first time in a very fucking long time, Hermione saw some level of fear in Harry. She reached out and squeezed his hand. 

“I’m in its mouth,” she told McGonagall and Snape, her voice firm. 

Harry nodded wordlessly. 

There was a moment of heavy silence. Then McGonagall leaned down and pulled the canteen from one of her drawers, taking a deep swig. 

Snape, for his part, frowned and tilted his head to the side slightly. “Is it harming you?”

Hermione shrugged. “I’m certainly not comfortable. But… I have started to control it. Only minor things. Mostly looking at Harry so I can hear him better.” 

“I don’t find that particularly reassuring,” McGonagall muttered. “Severus? Have any ideas? Dark rituals are much more your field than mine.”

Snape nodded. “If you’ll allow me…” He trained off, nodding meaningfully towards some of the portraits. 

McGonagall nodded. “Can any of you dears go fetch Salazar or Rowena for us, please?”

Phineas nodded and disappeared out of frame. A short moment later, Rowena stepped into where he’d been before. 

Snape nodded a greeting to the founder. “We were wondering if you could confirm some suspicions of ours. It appears as if someone is attempting a Scholomance ritual on school grounds.”

The ease of it made Hermione’s heart beat faster. Shit. She was in her pajamas in front of a founder of Hogwarts. She wasn’t sure about the precise rites that one ought to use to greet someone of such stature, but she was fairly certain her kitty-patterned pajamas weren’t part of it. 

Rowena leaned against the portrait frame, one arm crossed and the other tapping her chin thoughtfully. “The signs you’re describing certainly fit it. Unfortunately, we know very little about Scholomance’s ritual teachings, particularly those involving necromancy. What we do know… the rituals are nearly unmatched in power, but their targets must be very well defined or else the energy will consume the caster.” 

Hermione raised her hand a little tentatively, and Rowena nodded at her. “No need to be so uncertain. Your contributions and mind have always impressed me.”

The words made her flush. “I--thanks,” she said, lamely. “I appreciate it. So do you think that the caster is using, say, ‘things that died during the Battle of Hogwarts’ as their definition?”

Rowena nodded. “That was the exact definition I was going to hypothesize.” She tilted her head to the side, and furrowed her brow as she scrutinized Snape. “You know, the two children fit the pattern. Potter died on the field that day, so it only makes sense that the ritual views him as something to be incorporated into the beast. Granger didn’t die, but she was walking the field, and touched deeply by Death that day--so much so that it may view her as the heart of the beast it’s aiming to create, if that makes sense. But you ought to also be experiencing these dreams, Severus.”

Something almost uncertain flickered in his eyes for a moment. “I was,” he said, finally. “But they didn’t seem out of the ordinary, even though I hadn’t… been on the field at that point in the aftermath. I’m certain you understand the mind’s propensity towards flashbacks, after what we’ve been through. I simply took more sleeping draught.” He offered a crooked grin. “Stupid as that was of me.”

The implications of that statement made Hermione glance towards Harry, who met her gaze with one of his own. Snape had been having night terrors with such frequency that he considered ‘giant undead dragon made of bodies on the field that day’ to be ordinary. 

“Truthfully, I think both Harry and I would’ve been in a similar boat, if we hadn’t had each other to confirm the veracity of the dreams,” Hermione offered. “I think it’s a perfectly understandable assumption.”

Snape made a noncommittal noise. 

“Although that leaves me with another question,” Hermione realized. “What about Crooks?” She held up the cat. 

McGonagall looked confused. She shot a glance at Snape. "Care to inform me what's going on, Severus?"

"Oh!" Hermione flushed guiltily. "Sorry, Headmistress. My cat came back from the dead, except apparently only people who died on the field that day can see him. And me." 

McGonagall arched a brow, but nodded. "Thank you."

“That’s the other outlier,” Rowena replied. “I suppose that certain familiars become more of an extension of their master’s souls than simply companions. If your half-kneazle was especially loyal, he may have bonded with you in such a way. The magics of familiar bonding are poorly studied. Otherwise, it may be an entirely other consequence of the ritual, and the scope of the resurrection may be broader than we’d hoped.”

“I don’t suppose we know how to stop this ritual,” McGonagall said. 

Rowena sighed. “Not much comes to mind, besides the obvious of killing the perpetrator. I’ll consult with Salazar, of course.”

“If I may--” Hermione hesitated again until Rowena nodded encouragingly at her. “Harry and I… if the ritual truly believes us to be part of the creature, we might be able to unravel it from within.”

“A promising theory. Or it might backfire and bind you to it,” Rowena replied with a shrug. “But I think that’s a good ‘if all else fails’ plan.”

“I’d prefer if the two of you didn’t go risking your lives willy-nilly,” McGonagall added, with a sharp look at both of them. “Although I suppose it’s pointless to try and convince you otherwise at this point.”

“Sorry, Headmistress,” Harry offered, not looking sorry at all. 

“I’ll be in touch,” Rowena said. “Salazar and I have some things to discuss, along with a few of the other portraits.”

“Thank you,” Snape replied. “As for the rest of us, it’s well past your bedtimes.” He looked pointedly at Hermione and Harry, then over at McGonagall. “And _yours.”_


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter, before more plot begins in earnest.

Severus was eating an early breakfast when Minerva walked right over to him and tossed a paper in front of him. “What’s this?”

He stared at for a moment before recognized it. A very well-respected, progressive muggle newspaper. The title yelled, ‘NEO-FASCIST LEADER LIT ON FIRE DURING RALLY, NO CAUSE IDENTIFIED.’

“A muggle newspaper,” he replied obliquely, trying to push down his smirk at the words ‘severe burn damage’ and ‘lost a limb.’ “I didn’t know you took a muggle newspaper, Minerva.” 

She chuckled. “Just that one. I like to stay in the loop when I can. Our conflict spilled out into their world, it’s only time before theirs spills into our world. Interesting title today, did you see? They say he combusted, as if by magic.”

Snape made a politely uninterested noise as he passed her the newspaper. “Muggles do enjoy such hyperbole.” 

“I was wondering if you had any insight, seeing as how you were in London at the time.” 

He smiled up at her, perfectly peaceful. “You know I don’t hang around with that sort of crowd anymore.” 

“No, indeed not.” She smiled twinklingly at him, but unlike Dumbledore, it held no manipulation. Minerva held up her mug of coffee in a toast to him. He raised his own and the cups clinked against each other. 

“Cheers,” he said, taking a sip. 

“To happy accidents and--what’d they call it?--_’spontaneous human combustion.’”_ She paused. “How’d you hide it, anyway?”

Severus smiled at his toast. “Tom was a piece of shit, but he did develop a few useful methods for evading Ministry bullshit.”

It was later that day, when he was teaching the fourth years, that Severus snapped. 

They were ‘learning’ how to brew the weedosoros poison, and Severus found it a small relief that at some point he would get to dump these dipshits on Hermione. Granger. Granger, he’d dump them on Granger. 

A Slytherin--Gordon, his name was--had been prodding at a muggleborn Ravenclaw all day, certain of his protection. Severus hated him already. There was something about his smile that reminded Severus of Dolohov, that predatory predilection in the edge of his grin. 

“Mudblood,” Gordon hissed in the Ravenclaw’s ear. 

Severus did the math, decided no one would be able to prove anything, and flicked a little bit of nearly-complete weedosoros poison onto Gordon’s hand--wandless and wordless, of course. Then he spoke. 

“Fifty points from Slytherin, Mr. Gordon, and two weeks of detention. I will not have that sort of _regressive ideology_ in my presence. If you weren’t aware, Mr. Gordon, we fought a whole damn war about its place in our society.”

He’d said it without glancing over from where he was scrutinizing a Hufflepuff’s cutting technique. Even without looking up, he could feel all eyes in the classroom turn to him, as if the students were attempting to bore holes in his robes. He didn’t react, simply stepping over to the student beside the Hufflepuff, and finding their cutting technique… well, he wouldn’t say ‘passable,’ but it wasn’t actively dangerous, so he allowed it to continue and went to the next student. 

It was the talk of the school by the next period. He could tell from the way the seventh (and eighth) years looked at him. Severus still had no idea, after all of these years, how the gossip machine worked. It shouldn’t be possible to have that many people find out in such a short time. 

At dinner, he took his seat next to Minerva. He’d had to move to sit next to her, since he was deputy Headmaster, a required role given that the castle still responded to him in some ways. 

“Decided to make many statements today, Severus?” she asked over dinner. 

He paused for a moment to give the effect of not caring. “I need your permission for an… alteration to the Slytherin common room.”

She put down her fork, turning to face him fully. “Oh?”

Severus continued to eat. “I’d like to install a charm that deducts points each time someone says something purist.”

Minerva pushed food around on her plate, and he could tell she was actually thinking it over. He put his own utensils down and turned to actually have a discussion. 

“I worry that it might be…” Severus hesitated. “Freedom, particularly freedom of speech, is necessary. But I also know, for certain, that Tom’s war started with those ideas, and ended with them. This generation must learn from our mistakes.” 

“I see your points,” Minerva replied. Severus ignored the stares from the rest of the staff, and a fair number of the students. “I don’t know if we should go that far yet. Perhaps… we can engage in positive reinforcement instead?”

The words ‘positive reinforcement’ made Severus’ lips press into a thin line, more out of reflex than actual thought. The reflex of it was what convinced him it was probably an idea to embrace in this… slightly less asshole chapter of his life. 

“Awarding points for egalitarian, open-minded discussion.”

Minerva nodded. She reached over and squeezed his hand. “Restorative justice, Sev, I’ll make you understand it yet.”

Severus rolled his eyes, returning to his food. 

“I’m proud of you, you know that?”

Another roll of his eyes. _Minerva._ “Anything else, Mother?”

She chuckled, returning to her food as well. “Alright, point taken.”

A moment later, Gordon--the Slytherin from earlier--started violently convulsing. Severus was careful to not pay attention. Weedosoros.

“Severus?” Minerva asked. 

“We were working with poisons today. Not my fault the boy doesn’t know how to wash his hands.”

And he returned to his food. 

Apparently Minerva also discussed Severus’ plan with Filius, because later that day, the Head of Ravenclaw approached him with a plan for a charm. It reacted based on intent, rather than words themselves, so that farming points wouldn’t be possible. Together, they set it up--in all the common rooms. 

“Does she intend to tell the students?” Severus asked him. 

Filius shrugged. “I don’t think so. The points will appear separately on our registrar, so we can see the effect.”

Severus just nodded, and before the Ravenclaw Head left, muttered something about appreciation. Before Filius could register it, Severus billowed away, making sure to be well out of range for any commentary on ‘changes’ or ‘you’re welcome’s.

***

Hermione’s morning was a little different. 

She had just come down from her room when Harry darted out, grabbed her, and yanked her into a hiding spot behind one of the couches. She suppressed her questions, knowing that when Harry hid, it was time to be quiet. A moment later, Hermione heard a familiar voice yelling. 

“FUCK!” screamed Ron. 

Hermione looked at Harry, who was shaking. Tears streamed from his eyes. Hermione stared at him, uncertain if he was sobbing or laughing. 

“I thought when that damned orange shit finally fucking keeled over we’d be done with the fucking suprises!” Ron yelled, and there was a sick squelching sound, followed by a scourgify. “Whose cat just barfed in my fucking shoe?!”

“I don’t know if there’s an orange cat around,” another, unfamiliar, more distant voice replied. 

“Fuck!” Ron repeated. “I swear to Merlin, when I find out--”

A door slammed so loudly it made both Harry and Hermione jump. Ron’s yelling became muffled. 

Harry burst out laughing, rolling over on the floor and slamming his fist into the rug. “Holy shit, Hermione,” he wheezed. “Your ghost cat just ralphed in Ron’s fucking dress shoes.”

At that, Hermione also burst into an evil cackle. “You’re joking!” 

“God no! I would recognize a Crooks hairball anywhere.” Harry brushed away tears. “Holy shit. I love your cat, Hermione.”

“I do too,” she said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hats off to Carols_Sister and Patton, who requested the hairball scene! <3
> 
> I can't decide if ralphing in Ron's shoes would be more of a Gryffindor or Slytherin action.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay since the other chapter is short I decided I'd just chuck this one up today too. 
> 
> I'm nearly done with the fic, although since I'm doing this betaless, I'll have to read back through for edits.

“What’s it like?”

Hermione tilted her head to the side and watched Harry think about his answer. 

“I mean,” he said to begin, “I didn’t have a typical experience. But Snape, when he was teaching me Occlumency, said that entering a mind really depends on the person. It’s different for each person you legilimens, and varies based on how they’re receiving you.”

They were sitting on a windowsill facing each other, cross legged, with Crooks between them. The window faced out at the field where the battle had taken place. It was late at night, and based on their previous encounters, they were certain that the ritual would begin soon. 

“What was Voldemort’s like?” Hermione’s eyes flew open as the words left her mouth. “Sorry, you don’t have to answer that. I know it’s probably not something to revisit.” 

Harry shrugged and shook his head. “No, it’s fine. It was… orderly. Compulsively so.”

“That’s what undid him in the end. His need to be in control.”

“Yeah. His mind reflected that. It was sort of like…” He scrunched up his face. “This is going to be a really poor analogy, but… imagine if you had a recurring dream. Entering his mind was like entering that dream, except it had become a nightmare, and everything was all reflected and mirrored and ordered so compulsively it kind of felt like someone was strangling you.” 

Hermione reached out and squeezed his hand. “I’m sorry for asking.”

“Don’t be.” He shrugged, and grinned mirthlessly. “Honestly, it’s good to talk about. I’ve felt like I’m the only person in the world who had to cope with knowing what Tom’s mind was like, and it’s not something I’m keen to share but it’s also not something I’d like to be alone in.” 

“You could talk to Professor Snape. I’m pretty sure he dealt with Tom’s mind, although from a very different angle than yours. If you think it’d help.”

“It might--”

Crooks sat bolt upright. 

Both of them tensed, hushed, and Harry swept the invisibility cloak around the three of them. From beneath its protective cover, they watched through the glass as the figure approached the recently-fixed white stone memorial.

“Ready?” Harry hissed. 

“As much as I’ll ever be.” It was a risky plan. Also probably a dumb one. But Hermione was used to risky and dumb, she’d camped with them for a year. And she said that with love. 

Harry squeezed her hand. 

Hermione looked at Crooks, and he met her eyes readily. “I’m going to try this, okay, boy?” She didn’t dare believe he understood her, but he turned to face her more firmly. “Legilimens,” she whispered. 

Hermione certainly hadn’t expected it to work. She’d read up on theoretical legilimency, in parallel with her research into occlumency, before she Obliviated her parents. During the latter year of the war, all three of them had taught themselves as much occlumency as they could, but none of them had the energy or desire to risk an attempt at legilimency on each other. 

Maybe it was because Crooks seemed to welcome her. It was like that time she’d half-polyjuiced into a cat, but instead of discomfort, she felt as if she were embracing in an old and faithful friend. Hermione couldn’t keep the smile off her face, trying to convey to Crooks how much she loved him, too. She could see herself smile through his eyes, and felt the corresponding surge of love.

If Hermione had needed more proof this was truly her cat, she was now certain. She felt Harry squeeze her hand and smiled. 

“It’s working,” she whispered. 

Crooks broke eye contact and turned to the field. Hermione’s grip on his mind wavered, and for a moment she felt the embrace falling away as her vision shifted and spun like she was waking up from a drugged sleep. It was hard to stay seated fully, and she felt like she was hanging on by a twig to someone else’s broom. Focusing on the image, she imagined herself grasping the handle of the broom, and the world stabilized. 

Window pane. Glass… grass. 

“He’s standing up,” said Harry. “And walking through the window.”

Hermione took a deep breath and kept her mind on the image of the broom. She hated flying, which was maybe why this image felt so appropriate. She could feel her anxiety begin to worm into her spellwork, and she was losing her grip on the broom--

The image of her smile and her warm embrace resurfaced in her mind, as Crooks remembered it. It was the memory of the first time he’d let her hug him after she adopted him. He’d been grouchy at first, but this was after months of gaining his trust, and he had finally let her hug him one night when she was sobbing alone in her room. He’d licked the tears from her cheeks and she’d giggled. Now, Hermione watched her much younger self bond with her beloved cat, and her magic surged back into certainty. 

Crooks was helping her. Bless his heart. 

While she had been focused on the memory, he had descended to the grass of the field, across the moat. Hermione was pretty glad she didn’t have to be there for that transit, and re-imagined the image of herself firmly grasping the broom. Crooks crept through the grass, approaching the memorial, which practically glowed even in the light of the slim crescent moon. 

The figure was there, too. It looked like a man, Hermione noticed, as Crooks slunk forward and hid behind him.

Once again the figure touched the stone and shattered it, the tremendous crack shaking Crooks’ vision as if someone had thrown a stone into the pool Hermione was looking through. She grit her teeth and held on as the image stabilized, and when she could next focus her eyes, Crooks had come to get a better look at the man as he moved through the field. 

The teal lights illuminated his figure. Those were the robes of a Death Eater, that was for certain, although they were tattered. His forearms weren’t covered by the ragged cloth, and Crooks eyed his left forearm--there. The thin outline of a scar, which was… red with blood? 

Crooks opened his mouth and scented the air. Feelings flew through his shared thoughts. Blood. Old. A few hours at least, a day at most. The wound’s appearance confirmed it. 

“He’s cutting it open anew,” Hermione realized aloud, the words and her own voice feeling distant, like a remembered dream. 

She couldn’t hear Harry’s response, if he had one. Crooks was busy hiding as the man made his way through the grounds, kneeling at a spot that Hermione figured he hadn’t resurrected something from before. 

He pulled down his hood. 

It was probably to see better but Hermione didn’t give a shit because it was exactly what they needed. Crooks prowled forward, arranging himself to get a good look at the man: gaunt, black hair, sallow cheeks, and those eyes. Hermione would’ve recognized those eyes anywhere, the same eyes that had been at Malfoy Manor that day, standing beside Bellatrix. 

“Lestrange,” she whispered. 

The fear tugged at her now, her instincts making her want to withdraw her own magic back into her body. No. She needed more information. She thought of the broom, of how she’d always just sucked up her fear and gripped on white-knuckled, or that time with the dragon and how she’d known she had to see it through. Fighting her every instinct, she continued to watch. 

Lestrange, whichever one of the brothers that he was, pulled a knife from his belt and stuck a strip of leather in his mouth. He began to cut, and before he even placed the knife against skin she knew where he’d be cutting. The mark. He bit down hard on the leather, and she could hear his heavy breathing. 

The first drop of blood hit the ground and the teal-blue lights rose from the ground. Crooks’ vision began to swim, and Hermione felt the effects of the magic on his body as if it was her own. She grit her teeth, willing herself to stay in Crooks’ mind as long as he would brave the magic.

A wash of reassurance flooded her, coming from her cat. He would not endanger them. But he would not give up easily, either. 

The more blood fell on the unmarked graves, the more the lights swirled closer. Crooks was forced to back up as the metallic tang of lightning and gut-emptying scent of rot assaulted them like a wall. 

Lestrange was saying something. Hermione couldn’t distinguish his words, not around the nausea and the vertigo and the scents of death and magic, not when she was barely hanging on to the connection and her own consciousness. 

A hand burst from the ground. 

Hermione’s magic shot back into her own head like a rubber band, so fast it felt like she’d been smacked, and she felt something cold and rough against her limbs and a confusion of noise and light and the lingering smell of rot and the overwhelming fear. Someone was shouting for her, she was going to pass out, she was going to vomit--

“Lestrange,” she croaked out. “Lestrange.”

Then she barely managed to register that she’d vomited all over one of the Deathly Hallows before she passed out. 

***

Severus had been forced into babysitting duty. He had not been particularly happy about it, but after Potter admitted that Granger (why was it always those two) had attempted legilimency for her _first bloody time_ on a fucking _cat ghost,_ he’d reluctantly acknowledged that as the expert legilimens on staff, it was his job to make sure she wasn’t fucked up. 

It was the third day when she finally stirred, and so late at night Severus had nearly given up on her for the night and retreated to his quarters with the magazine he was reading. McGonagall had to let him sleep _sometime._

She whimpered. 

“Don’t get up too quickly,” he said without looking up from his reading material. “You’ve--”

It was then that Hermione vomited. 

Severus’ mouth was stuck open as he turned to look at her. Their eyes met, and all he saw was fear and fight. 

She rolled off of the bed and a stunning spell flashed through the air, which he barely managed to block with wandless magic and a little assistance from the most recent edition of _Potions Monthly. _

“Hermione Granger!” he snapped. “Calm down!”

It was his first response and he regretted it almost immediately. The shouting and aggression would probably not work. It would probably just aggravate her, especially if she’d lost memories, or--was that sobbing?

Oh, and more vomiting. Cool. 

With a sigh, Severus put down his badly crumpled magazine and stood up. A quick whirl of his hand scourgified the blankets. 

Getting down on the floor would hurt his old man knees, but it would let him see Granger closer and look less ominous doing so. Crouching down on the ground, Severus decided that he didn’t need use of his knees anyhow. He carefully inched himself over with as much dignity as he could manage--which was not much at all--until he was on the same side of the medbay bed as her, holding his hands up in the signal for surrender. 

She was curled up, knees to chest with her arms wrapped around them. Her hair floated around her head in a wild mane. 

“I’m not armed. I’m not your enemy,” he said. “How much do you remember?”

“Everything up to when I got back from using legilimency on Crooks,” Hermione said, then shook her head and buried her face in her arms. “God, Professor, I’m so sorry, I just--”

“Don’t apologize. And you haven’t forgotten anything, then.” He shuffled himself into a sitting position, scourgifying the second pile of vomit as he did so. “I recognize a flashback when I see one.”

She laughed. It did not have joy in it. In fact it kind of sounded like an uncontrolled, pre-panic-attack response. 

Severus decided he was not equipped to deal with a panic attack, especially not from Hermione fucking Granger. “If I may offer some advice, Miss Granger?”

She didn’t respond. He took it as a yes. 

“Try and avoid using legilimency on a fucking ghost cat again. Especially when you’ve never been trained--I mean, how the bloody hell did you even know what to do?”

“Books,” she mumbled. 

“Right. I should’ve called that.”

She made a little noncommittal noise that nearly broke his heart. Normally there’d probably be a blush and a smile and maybe even a cheeky retort for his trouble. 

“Water?” It was a futile attempt at consolation. 

There was a moment of hesitation, then her head nodded, but she didn’t look up from where her arms were crossed. Severus summoned a glass of water and had to crawl (yeah, fuck it, he didn't need dignity or knees) a few feet to place it next to her. Thankfully by the time she looked up, he was back in his previous spot. 

Granger took a few hesitant sips, then gulped the entire glass down. A flick of his hand refilled it, but she just reddened and put it down, burying her head in her arms again. 

Books, he realized. She’d learned how to do legilimency from fucking _books._ Most legilimens struggled even with talent and a good teacher. The few notable exceptions were well-recorded in wizarding history. 

Brightest witch of her time, and patented do-er of bad ideas. (‘Bad ideas’ may include a Weasley.)

“How long have I been out?”

“Three days,” he said as casually as possible.

Another whimper. “I’m going to have so much homework to catch up on.”

What? “Potter said you were two weeks ahead on all your classes--Granger, don’t tell me you constantly work two weeks ahead.”

The silence was enough of a reply. 

“It’s a wonder you had enough time to save the world with those two.”

“I learned time management skills,” she mumbled, sounding defensive. 

Severus snorted. “Which included a time turner.”

“Time management.” She sounded so glum he couldn’t argue. 

“Oh, fine. _Time management.” _

She was silent again for a while, and Severus was just about to call over his reading material when she spoke up again. 

“I should tell you what happened.”

Severus shrugged, then realized she probably couldn’t see that. “If you want.”

Hesitation. “I want to.” 

When another few beats went by without a continuation, Severus offered, “It doesn’t have to be now.”

“No. It needs--I need you to identify him.”

Ah. Potter had mentioned the name she said. “It’s probably Rodolphus or Rabastan. I’m not too worried, they’re both interchangeably fanatical and racist.”

No giggle there. Damn, was Severus losing his touch? Well, maybe 'touch' was the wrong word, but it was a little clunky to say 'whatever mysterious force that made Hermione Granger, brightest witch of her age and member of the golden trio, happy when he made dumb jokes.' 

“Can you… take it?”

What? Oh fuck. Was she asking him to use legilimency on her? “From your mind?”

“Yes. I don’t want to have to talk about it.”

“You’ll still have to experience it again.”

“I know.” She rotated her head a little, and those golden eyes stared at him with such acute mourning. 

He could hear his heartbeat in his ears. People didn’t typically ask to have their minds delved into. “Are you certain?”

“Yes. I wouldn’t have asked otherwise.”

Still, Severus hesitated. “I don’t want to overstep bounds of privacy.”

Her eyes drifted down, to where he realized suddenly that he was gripping his hands together quite tightly. He relaxed his hands immediately. 

“Just… if there’s anything about the Malfoy Manor, or my parents, try and… avoid it.”

“Alright. Push me out whenever you’re uncomfortable.”

“I will.” 

His lips quirked into a smile against his will. She was the one who seemed okay with this, out of the two of them. For some reason, Severus found himself a little uncertain about his desire to violate the sanctity of Hermione Granger’s mind, which wasn’t something he’d ever experienced before or ever thought he’d experience. But she trusted him? Which was… unexpected. He wasn’t sure how he felt, or should feel, about that. 

“Alright,” he said, finally, and her eyes moved back up to meet his. “Legilimens.”

Severus stepped into a library. It wasn’t a vast, expansive place, like an official or public library, but rather something cozy and lived-in. It wasn’t like one of those stereotyped genius mind-palaces, either. It was too welcoming for that. Warm and friendly, very nerdy, a little eccentric, all like her. A personal collection. 

He recognized it instantly as one of the more difficult occlumency techniques. Also, probably just how Granger thought normally, given her… penchant for rote memorization. Fuck. She probably had an eidetic memory, didn’t she? Or at least something very close. 

Severus paused to observe some of the titles. They weren’t organized well, but he found the mixture amusing. Photo albums were interspersed with volumes on charms and arithmancy, fiction novels with entire textbooks of potioneering and transfiguration. Some titles were written entirely in ancient runes, others in French. 

Hermione tugged him to one bookcase. She wasn’t there, not physically, but he could feel the draw nonetheless, like something pulling on his sleeve. He touched the carved likeness of her cat, and the whole case swung away, revealing the next layer of her mind. 

“Clever,” he muttered, despite himself. 

It was another library, although he would classify this one as more of a room of notes. Memories. He was drawn to one that sparkled in front of him on a central table. 

Severus went over and peered in. 

It started with the windowsill, talking with Potter about being in Voldemort’s mind. Then she went into Crooks’ mind, and Hermione sped over most of their transit to the point when they could see the figure. 

Hermione’s mind opened further to him and Severus allowed himself to sink fully into the memory, brushing away the layer of Hermione’s mind that prevented him from seeing things clearly, so it was as if he was in Crooks’ mind himself. The man was crouching down, and his hood fell--

Panic. Severus felt Hermione nearly suffer a breakdown on the spot. Other memories were rushing in, now, as well as her current emotions--Malfoy Manor, pain in her forearm, Bellatrix’ eyes and those standing beside her--

Severus wrenched her memories of the manor out of the way to focus on the one from that night. Crooks was able to get a good look at the man’s face, and the way he reopened the cuts on his Dark Mark. 

“Rabastan Lestrange,” Severus confirmed, as the memory faded away to vertigo and nausea and he gently pried himself from her mind, trying his best to ignore the strange aura of thankfulness and relief, a reflection of her current feelings. 

He returned to his own body to notice her staring at him with those big doe eyes again. 

“How did you do that?”

“Do what?”

“The… bit where you pushed away my memories. S--Professor, you just completely shut down a panic attack, I haven’t ever been able to get out of the flashbacks that fast.” 

“Oh.” Severus settled back against the wall of the infirmary, extending his legs and crossing them over each other. His hands he let remain folded in his lap. “It’s a variant of occlumency, a technique that isn’t built for defense so much as general mental health.” He swallowed, ignoring the way that Nagini’s scar chafed against his collar. “Although, an enemy legilimens will often try to induce panic attacks in their victims, so it can be helpful in focusing during a combat situation. Which reminds me, how the hell do you know occlumency?”

There it was. The hint of a smile beneath her curtain of curls. Severus decided to not acknowledge the sudden wave of relief. “Books.”

He rolled his eyes. “That how you learned to breathe, too?”

“Yes. Muggle doctors perform a series of examinations on newborn babies, did you know that? I wonder how much I studied for them.” 

Severus snorted, despite himself. “Was nine months not enough time for baby Granger? Did you worry that you’d only get ‘Exceeds Expectations’ on your screaming test?”

She giggled. The sudden abrupt thumping of his heart was definitely coincidental. “It’s hard to read in a womb, there’s very little light.”

“That’s not a statement I’d ever thought I’d hear.” Severus managed to constrain all but a small smile on his face.

He was about to reply further, to continue the banter, when her stomach growled quite insistently. She flushed, and looked about to apologize, but he wasn’t about to give her the chance. 

“Hungry? Poppy would murder me if I let you have solid food, but I bet we can get some soup.” 

A look of guilt and uncertainty passed over her face. “I wouldn’t want to wake Madam Pomfrey up, she’s always so overworked and busy.”

“Who said we were going to wake her up?” Severus’ grin grew as he stood. “Come on, this place is easy to sneak out of once you know the trick.” He held out a hand to help her up. 

She took his hand and he pulled her to her feet. It was only then that he realized she was considerably dressed down and it took all of his occlumency to not respond by immediately flipping shit at putting her in such an uncomfortable position. She’d been in pajamas with little llamas on them and Severus was not about to speculate about what stage of undress his pupil enjoyed sleeping in.

“Sorry,” he said. “I’ll wait outside while you get ready?”

“Sure.” She turned to find where Poppy stashed her stuff.

It was only a minute. She came out in a hoodie with her hair tied up in a ponytail, her wand stuck in it and her hands stuffed in her pockets. She frowned a little at the infirmary, looking still a little half-asleep. “Did Harry tell you I barfed on the last remaining Deathly Hallow?”

Snape barked a laugh and lead the way out of the infirmary. Before exiting it, he paused and waved his hands towards the doorway, casting a spell to look at all the wards visually. 

The air lit up in a multitude of colors, each detailing different types of wards and different casters, written along the planes of their casting. He could hear Hermione inhale sharply. Stepping up to the wards, he traced where the protection wards ended and where the alarms began. 

There it was. He traced his fingers along the light indicating an alarm placed by Poppy to alert her to escapees, and it glowed brighter while the other spells faded. With a whispered counter-incantation, he dampened it for a moment, and gestured for Hermione to hurry through. 

She was quicker than he thought she’d be, given how tired she looked. Apparently war had done some shit to her, despite her outward appearances. He followed, then paused to re-establish the alarm, before turning back to her. 

“Handy,” she said as they walked side by side towards his office. He tried to slow down, not eager to tire her out after a three-day almost-coma. “You’ve got to teach me how to do that.”

“It’s easier than it looks,” he said with a shrug as he opened the door, took down most of the wards, and let her through. “Really it’s just a basic revelio charm with some extra trimmings to make it easier to interpret.”

They stepped into his office and, to Severus’ utter not-surprise, Hermione was instantly attracted to the books like they were magnetic. Probably were, to her. He turned and clapped twice, one of the house elves appearing in a puff of magic. 

“Hello, Pipps,” Severus greeted her, sitting down so he wasn’t looking down at her. “I hope it’s not too late?”

“Never too late, Master Snape. What cans Pipps do for you?”

He pointed to Hermione. “Granger, what sort of soups do you like?”

“Oh-! Uh.” She turned, and smiled at Pipps. “Hello there. Would you mind just making me some chicken noodle soup? Something simple. I appreciate it.” 

“It would be Pipps’ pleasure!” 

“Coffee too, and a little bit of warm bread, if that’s alright. Thank you, Pipps.” 

The elf bowed and disappeared. 

“Coffee, this late?”

Severus shrugged. “It doesn’t have much of an effect anymore.”

“Oh, that’s right,” Hermione said absently, “You used to subsist entirely on black coffee and stress.” 

One of his eyebrows quirked at her, but she was looking at his books. Severus was still pretty sure she was hiding a smile. It was good to see her feeling better. “I’ve added toast to my diet.”

“What has the world come to? Severus Snape, eating food? If I told you from a couple years ago that, one day, you’d go so far as to indulge in _toast,_ I think he’d hex me seven ways to hell.” 

Severus snorted, torn between pouting about how accurate she was and being very glad that having her address him as Severus wasn’t as forced as he thought it’d be. He hated his name, albeit not as much as his middle name, and he was worried that his apprentice using it would feel strange. 

The fact that she said it like it wasn’t repulsive was a great relief. Like he wasn’t repulsive. 

“Honestly, that was a pretty typical response from me for most of my years.” 

“I know. Shall I talk to Minerva about staging an intervention for your recent shift away from grumbling, or check you for polyjuice?” She glanced at him out of the corners of her eyes. It looked like she was trying to be surreptitious. It was not working. 

“I didn’t grumble _that_ much. It was a lot more sneering.”

“You’re grumbling right now.”

He grumbled out a response, then physically choked on the words, rolling his eyes at her subsequent snicker. 

“Maybe we won’t need an intervention after all.” Her eyes were sparkling. 

“Harrumph,” he replied, eloquently.

She laughed again, and opened her mouth to reply when food was delivered onto his desk with a crack of magic. Her stomach growled--or, more accurately, roared--at the food, and Hermione smiled. “Thank you, Pipps!” she called into the air. 

Severus moved to sort the food out, ladelling out a bowl of soup for her from the large pot they’d included. “Damn,” he muttered. “They must love you. They gave you a lot of food.”

“Oh, they’re wonderful. They forgave me for my misunderstanding of their culture, and a lot of them are coming around to the idea that they can do things for themselves, and that they deserve protection against masters like--” She froze. 

He glanced up, worried she was having another flashback to Malfoys, when he noticed that her gaze had caught on one of the books. He knew what it was instantly from its placement. It was an old text about research into memory restoration potions, and included details about the formulation of memory sharpening potion. 

“--Oh,” she said. 

“Just don’t let those dunderheads spill anything on it,” Severus told her as he poured himself a cup of coffee and adding in three cubes of sugar. “They’re out of print.” 

She was staring at him. “You… I… Dunderheads?”

Severus snorted. “I like to believe not, but it feels a bit too close to self-diagnosis for me to be certain.” 

She was still staring at him. He liked watching her try to process this. 

“What?” he asked. “Did I metamorph into a unicorn, or something?”

“N-No, I just.” She swallowed, looking between him and the book. “You’d… really let me borrow it?”

He shrugged, and nodded, pulling out a piece of bread and buttering it up before pouring himself a small bowl of soup broth. “I’m not doing anything with it. And you’re not likely to find one anywhere else, they’re a bitch and a half to get ahold of nowadays. Do you know how many Ministry officials I had to hex for it to be imported properly? Seventeen. Now get over here and eat, before you collapse again and Poppy Pomfrey shows up to skin me alive.”

When Hermione showed up the next day in the corridor, Severus noted with amusement that she’d warded the book so heavily that she had to wear gloves to turn the pages. He sidled up beside her with a snort. “It’s a book, not the bloody Boy-Who-Lived, Granger.”

She smiled at him with deceptive sweetness. “I know. I’m just concerned about your importation strategies. You see, Professor--” her eyes twinkled dangerously here “--curses have always been one of my weaker subjects, and I’m not certain how effectively I’d be able to manage to hex the whole Ministry Importation Division.”

Granger was going to be the death of him.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to thank everyone for their love and support! The responses to this fic have absolutely warmed my heart. <3
> 
> I will be updating daily at least, more frequently if I get impatient/persuaded. I joined this site only to post this so I don't know what the best system is for staying up-to-date, so I can't actually recommend anything, but make sure you don't miss if I double update!

“So you’re certain it’s Rabastan then, Severus?”

Hermione looked between McGonagall and Snape. Harry sat at her side, and Crooks in her lap. 

Snape nodded. “The Ministry never found his body. Rodolphus is in Azkaban, but Rabastan was presumed dead. I told them it was an oversight. It’s the same bloody mistake that Tommy made, and we’re not going to learn from it? If he had the presence of mind to curse Potter again, the war would’ve had an entirely different outcome--”

_“Severus,”_ McGonagall warned. 

“I mean, he’s right,” Hermione said. “I wouldn’t have trusted Narcissa.”

Harry nodded. “Me neither. Still don’t.” He chuckled, and Hermione joined him in it. “Double tapping’s easy enough, I don’t know why the Ministry didn’t get on board with it. I definitely did it to Tom’s body.” 

“Double tapping?” the Headmistress asked. 

“Muggle term, ma’am,” Hermione explained. “It’s when you… make another fatal wound on someone’s body, to ensure they’re dead.” She glanced between Harry and Snape. “Voldemort did have a tendency to not ensure people were dead.” 

“His hubris was always his downfall,” Snape said in agreement, his voice quiet and eyes distant. “That and his inability to kill Potter despite being the most powerful Dark Wizard of all time. Asinine, really.”

“You’re extra grouchy today, Severus.” McGonagall sighed, and adjusted some of the papers on her desk. “Very well. I will speak to Kingsley about not fucking it up this time around.” Harry suffered a sudden coughing fit that sounded suspiciously like laughter at her choice of words, but unperturbed, McGonagall continued. “Rabastan Lestrange has performed his ritual six times that we’ve accounted for, once every week since the beginning of the semester. He’s been switching up the days, however.”

The number clicked in Hermione’s mind. “He’ll be aiming for seven. He’s still a loyal death eater, and Voldemort had a fondness for that number.” 

“Agreed,” said a new voice. 

Hermione looked up and saw that Rowena was back. Her heart skipped a beat at the Founder yet again siding with her.

“He’s been timing it with different lunar and planetary alignments. Tomorrow night will likely be his next attempt, if the pattern holds,” Rowena continued. “And your best bet at stopping him. He will have a small army of inferi at his command.”

“Lovely,” Harry muttered with a roll of his eyes. Hermione reached over and squeezed his hand. 

McGonagall grimaced. “I will get the students on war footing again, then,” she said. “And by that I mean I will get them to safety, with the exception of some of the seventh and eighth years, who would throw a fit if I didn’t let them join up.” 

“You may also want to send that fish you call a DADA Professor with the first years.” Snape looked like he’d swallowed bitterroot essence. “I doubt he will be useful in the slightest.” 

“Is Professor Forwit truly that bad?” McGonagall asked. 

Hermione started as she realized McGonagall was looking at her and Harry. She glanced at Harry and met his gaze. 

“Yeah,” said Harry, and she nodded. “I’m worried that I won’t be qualified as an Auror if I have to keep studying under him.” Harry’s voice was a whisper, so quiet that Hermione wasn’t sure if she’d heard correctly. When she whirled to face him with wide eyes of concern, he just shrugged, looking truly defeated. 

How dare Forwit make her brother feel that way. 

Hermione leveled her gaze at McGonagall, chin up. She saw the disbelief in the woman’s eyes at Harry’s words.

“Here we go,” Snape muttered. 

“Throughout the year, all we have learned is that Forwit believes the world is full of happy shiny rainbows since Voldemort is gone. We have not discussed any spells, protections, tactics, or creatures. Forwit is the singularly most useless professor I have had my entire time at Hogwarts. I include that assessment the sociopathic pink tea cozy and the time that we had an actual Death Eater teaching us.”

“Which time?” Snape asked with a wry grin. It even showed teeth. 

Hermione snorted a laugh and rolled her eyes at him. “Truthfully? Both. You should’ve heard the girls’ common room the night after your speech on the Dark Arts.” 

Snape blinked. “What.”

“Boy’s common room, too.” Harry said with a little shrug and a look of mischief.

Snape looked between the two of them with such open bewilderment that Hermione thought he’d faint. “Aren’t you two funny.”

Hermione offered him an apologetic smile and a shrug of consolation. “Yeah, we’re not joking.” 

“There was consideration of a fanclub,” Harry added. 

Snape’s jaw dropped and, after a moment, he turned to the wall he’d been leaning against and started smacking his head against it.

McGonagall sighed, rubbing her temples. “Talking with you three is like herding cats.”

“You would know about that, Headmistress, not us,” Hermione replied, the words falling out of her mouth before she had time to censor them. She almost froze out of fear, but then she heard Snape start to laugh. The sound emboldened her like she’d just snorted liquid luck. 

McGonagall froze, then closed her eyes and groaned. “I’m beginning to think Severus has the right idea.”

Harry snickered. “You walked into that one, ma’am. Anyway, yeah, Forwit’s a useless piece of shit.” 

“At least shit has uses as manure,” Hermione pointed out, trying to keep her voice relatively low in the futile hope that McGonagall wouldn’t hear. “I dunno if I’d even trust Forwit’s body to fertilize a field. Can you even grow plants on soggy cardboard?”

McGonagall must’ve heard, as she began gently hitting her head against the top of her desk.

Harry paused thoughtfully, then nodded. “You’re right. All of the plants would die out of boredom and lack of nutrition.” 

Hermione’s grin grew as she realized something. “Hah. It’d be worse than watching grass grow.” 

“I’m about five seconds from resurrecting that damn snake to finish the job,” Snape muttered, collapsing against the wall. “Maybe I can ask Lestrange, since he seems to be the resident necromancer.” 

Oh yeah, that thing that was currently endangering their lives. “We need a plan for that, or are we just going to wing it?” Hermione asked, arching a brow at Harry.

He shrugged. “Improvisation’s always worked before.” 

“Brilliant. Five knuts they’re going to try and kill Harry.” Hermione grinned, elbowing Harry in the ribs. 

“Miss Granger, that is a most inappropriate statement,” Snape hissed. For a moment fear constricted her insides, but then he continued, “Everyone is always trying to kill Potter. Only a dunderhead would take those odds.” 

McGonagall glared at him. “Severus! Don’t encourage them!” she said, her breath coming in stuttering gasps that indicated someone trying very hard to not laugh. “Or else I’ll retire and you’ll have to be Headmaster again.” 

“Is that your go-to blackmail line, Headmistress?” Harry asked. 

“Yes,” Snape replied, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

McGonagall rolled her eyes, and waved her arms dismissively. “Alright. Out, all of you. We’re going to call a meeting of staff, and then we’ll inform the students during dinner. Granger, Potter, you are expected to attend.”

“Yes, Headmistress.” Hermione stood, holding out a hand to pull Harry from his seat. 

“Wouldn’t miss it, Headmistress,” Harry seconded. 

“Indeed, Mr. Potter, you had better not.” 

McGonagall instructed the portraits to call the staff together, and then lead the way. Hermione stuck close to Harry as they followed McGonagall and Snape. The two teachers were muttering to each other as they walked, so Hermione and Harry did the same. 

“Who do you think we’ll have joining us?” Hermione asked. “You know, of the seventh and eighth years.” 

Harry was silent for a few steps. “Ginny, Ron, Neville, and Luna for sure,” he started. “I expect most of the DA, and Draco, will also come.” 

“Draco’s changed, hasn’t he? For the better.” Hermione kept her eyes on Harry, ignoring how Snape threw a glance over his shoulder at the mention of Malfoy. 

“Yeah, he’s been…” Harry trailed off. “I dunno. I mean, he was a little bully, but I think he grew up. And he didn’t deserve Azkaban. I’m glad he’s back.”

Hermione nodded, but was unable to reply before they stopped in front of a portrait. The Headmistress turned to them and looked between all three of them. 

“Try and not be too impolite,” she said. “It’s difficult enough wrangling some of these people even without provocation, _Severus.” _

He arched a brow. “If they don’t want me to say something, they should endeavor to be less insipid.”

With a warning look at him, McGonagall whispered something to the portrait to open it, and then they stepped through, Snape holding the portrait open for the two of them. 

“It’ll try and shut on students,” he said, in a tone that indicated explanation, but Hermione felt like it was more of an excuse. 

“Thanks,” she said anyway. He made an unimpressed noise. 

Some of the staff were already there. Vector and Flitwick beamed at them. Vector was even sitting on a couch and moved over, patting the cushions and gesturing for Hermione and Harry to come over. Flitwick, who was just entering, took a seat on a stool by Harry, with Snape relaxing in an armchair to Vector’s other side after pouring himself a glass of firewhiskey.

“Thank you,” Hermione murmured as she sat down by the Arithmancy professor, Harry on her other side. 

The other reactions were mixed. Hagrid came over for hugs. Sprout seemed startled, but smiled. Hooch cackled like an insane woman before sitting down and watching them all with a wide grin. Pince just gave them a Look that made Hermione wonder if she was related to Snape. Pomfrey smiled at them, waving, and took a seat. Sinistra arched a brow. Forwit scowled thunderously and stood by the door. Trelawny looked highly displeased, but sat down. 

After all the staff had assembled, McGonagall began, standing at one side of the room where everyone could see her. 

“Some of you are aware of the intruder on our grounds.” She held up her hand to silence the protests of a few teachers who seemed in varying degrees of shock. Forwit puffed up angrily, Vector sat up in her seat, and Hooch leaned forward with eyes narrowed. “A few days ago, Miss Granger managed to ascertain the identity of this intruder, but was knocked unconscious before we could verify her findings. Professor Snape has, earlier today, verified this intruder’s identity as Rabastan Lestrange.”

Another ripple of reactions. Hermione kept her eyes fixed on McGonagall. She wasn’t here to cause trouble or react. She was here to prepare the school. 

“Rabastan Lestrange was--or is--one of Voldemort’s most faithful followers and a powerful Dark Wizard. Given that he has survived a year on the run without alerting the wizarding world as a whole to his survival, he is not to be underestimated.” McGonagall paused to make sure her faculty understood. 

Forwit scoffed. Hermione bit her lip to keep the retorts from coming up. 

“This is poppycock,” Forwit said. “The Death Eaters were all hunted down and imprisoned, with a few… exceptions.” He shot a pointed look at Snape, who just took a sip of his firewhiskey. “These children are just paranoid, or trying to reignite the war to reclaim lost glory--”

“You do realize Harry _died_ during that bloody war?” Hermione exploded. “He died, Professor. He was made to believe that he needed to die to get rid of the Horcrux in him, so he fucking walked alone to face an army of Dark Wizards knowing he was about to die, to be murdered, _tortured,_ and didn’t raise a wand in self-defense. I think the only one who can say something similar is Professor Snape. I’d like to see anyone else in this room face Voldemort with such dignity.” 

The silence was heavy, like someone had dropped a thick blanket over the entire room. Snape took another sip of firewhiskey.

To Hermione’s surprise, it was Flitwick who spoke up first. “Voldemort was my boggart,” he said. “Probably still is. I’ve been through a lot, but I don’t think for one moment my experience matches the pain that these two esteemable young people have endured in the past eight years. I think you owe them an apology, Forwit, and a great deal more respect.” 

Hermione turned to the Charms Professor, offering him a smile of thanks. Brilliant. He smiled back at her, and nodded. 

“I knew what I was getting into,” Snape said, surprising Hermione. “I entered the conflict knowing full well my chances of survival. These two were given no such choice, or knowledge. They acted simply because it was the right thing to do, regardless of the pain they would face. There was no little flier telling them the hell they would endure, and they were only twelve when they first stood up to Voldemort. When you were that age, Forwit, you were still soiling yourself at the monsters under the bed.” 

Forwit muttered something, going redder. 

Hermione noted that McGonagall was giving Snape an exasperated look, but she ignored it, instead smiling at Snape. He met her eyes and pointedly took another sip of firewhiskey, which she nodded in agreement to. 

“As I was _saying.”_ McGonagall’s voice had a bit of tension to it, and she shot a look at Forwit. “We will be instituting emergency war footing in the school until Rabastan is subdued. If our calculations hold, he will act in two days. He has been raising an army of inferi from the old battlefield, and we’re uncertain what he intends to do with them, but it cannot be good.” She nodded to the three Heads of Houses. “We will need the Heads of Houses to secure the students in their respective shelters, and work with prefects to secure the school. If seventh or eighth years insist on joining the battle, they will be allowed to. I expect a few sixth years will sneak out too to help, but we will not encourage it. I will announce these developments during dinner tonight, and we will have tomorrow to prepare. Are there any questions?”

A few of the staff asked about the specifics of the emergency plans, which Hermione paid attention to, wishing she had something to write things down on. As if noticing her twitching fingers, Vector pulled out a small notepad and quill, smiling as she handed them over. Hermione began meeting notes immediately, scribbling down what needed to be completed.

Apparently, after the Battle of Hogwarts, the statues needed some time to recharge and repair. A small detachment would join the army, but they couldn’t rely on them. Staff were assigned sectors of the school to ward, as well as different duties. Hooch volunteered for aerial reconnaissance, to the surprise of absolutely nobody, and Flitwick and Vector were in charge of organizing general defenses. Trelawny promised to seek the future for guidance, which McGonagall agreed to under the condition that she didn’t get in the way of other preparations, and Pomfrey was going to put the infirmary on war footing. 

They were nearly wrapping up when Severus spoke up. “I will require Granger for the next day.”

McGonagall paused, but nodded, glancing at Hermione. “If there’s nothing else she needs to do for preparing defenses, I’m sure she’d be happy to assist. What do you require her for, Severus?”

He finished draining the firewhiskey from his glass. “I have an idea about how to deal with the inferi, and I need another person to aid with brewing.” 

Hermione nodded. “I’ll come to the Potions classroom as soon as I can, Professor.”

Dinner was a typical affair until the very end, when McGonagall stood and clapped her hands. The room quieted. 

“Students, I must inform you of some very grave news.” She folded her hands in front of her. “The staff has reason to believe that there is a renegade ex-Death Eater on school property, who seeks to harm us. As such, for the next few days, until such time as we are certain of this wizard’s defeat, we will be instituting emergency war footing.” She nodded to the other Heads of Houses. “Your Heads of Houses distributed brochures at the beginning of the year involving emergency procedures. I regret that we have to utilize them at all, let alone so soon after the defeat of Voldemort.” 

Hermione ignored the rest of her speech, having basically heard it before. Instead, she glanced around at the other kids. Those who remained from the DA were all looking to her and Harry. When she glanced at Harry, he nodded.

“I’ll handle organizing the DA,” he said. “You go handle your Head Girl duties, then see what Snape needs you for.” 

“Brilliant.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick additional post today. Tomorrow's chapter is going to be very long, as it will comprise the battle and resolution of the little plot-like object. There will be significantly more of the story after it! I just decided to give up on proper pacing because I was writing this for fun.

It was late by the time that Severus finally dragged himself to his potions room. He swung off his cloak, tossing it on his chair and only then realizing that there was someone else in the room. 

Hermione. Granger, that was her name, she was here and she was already brewing. 

She glanced over from the cauldron she was working on. “I took the liberty of beginning a few healing brews that Pomfrey asked me for,” she said, then chewed at her lip. “Mostly wiggenweld. I hope that’s okay.”

“Always good to be prepared.” He left the room, heading to his office for a moment and tying up his hair while he pulled out the stack of papers he’d been working on for the past few days, and a couple of tomes. Returning to his classroom, he handed Granger a mostly neat recipe before dumping the rest of the papers on his desk. 

“What’s this?” she murmured, almost automatically, as she looked over the page. Her eyes sparkled. “Valerian, erumpet tails… powdered dragon horn, phosphorus… hellebore seeds… pufferfish quills, scarabs....”

“What’s your guess, Granger?”

She scrunched up her face thoughtfully, while he began to retrieve cauldrons. “It’s a mix between exploding potions and skele-gro, but I think some of the ingredients wouldn’t mix well… Something with fire, possibly targeting bones.”

“Correct.” He plopped down a cauldron, and summoned his blender. “If I’m correct, it should create a fire that will only burn inferi. What ingredients concern you?”

Granger had pulled out her other toys and brought them over to him. “I just always thought you weren’t supposed to mix scarabs and hellebore seeds, sir.”

“If you want to keep your hide, you don’t,” he replied. “They’re very volatile together. Why do they work in this potion?”

She tilted her head, grabbing some bowls and following him into the reagent room. “I suppose the valerian could stabilize it?”

“Yes.” He paused, measuring out dragon horn. “Well, hopefully.”

“...Hopefully?”

Severus shrugged. “I haven’t had time to test it. That is why I will be preparing this brew and you will be making a batch of fire resistance potion.”

She grinned. “Brilliant.” 

Granger was good company. Their brewing session alternated between companionable silence and a sort of snarky banter that Severus found himself getting quite used to, despite his attempts to not take her presence for granted. It just felt so natural, and he forgot himself when he slipped into their dynamic. She wasn’t nearly as chatty as before the war, and when she did talk, it was always of substance. 

By one in the morning, the fire resistance potion was ready and Severus could take the next step of his brewing. He chugged a glass, feeling the icy liquid pour down his throat. It felt like ice was filtering through his blood vessels, creeping outwards into his extremities and penetrating his marrow. 

Severus made sure she’d taken some before he tossed in the first scarab. 

There was a light puff of fire that shook the table and scorched the ceiling, but nothing worse than that. With a shrug, Severus rolled up his sleeves, then gently emptied a carefully-weighed bowl of scarabs into the mix. A small fountain of fire accompanied this development, but it washed harmlessly over his hands, flames licking painlessly up his forearms to brush against the scar of the old Dark Mark. 

“That could’ve gone a lot worse,” he said as he brushed out the last few bits of scarab, then turned. 

She was smiling at him. Just smiling. Those big golden eyes sparkled. 

“What?” he asked. 

“Oh, I just feel very Victorian,” she said. “It’s so scandalous to see your wrists, after all. I might swoon.” 

Severus rolled his eyes, unable to comment. She was right, after all. His stifling clothes were his protection against the world. He turned towards the storage room. “When you’ve recovered from the impropriety, we need to make more of this. After we test it.” 

She laughed and followed him.

After the first batch was done, they went to the dungeon’s containment area, where there was a solitary inferi that had been trapped for DADA lessons by someone, at some point, the details of which were lost to the ages. It was very lethargic and hardly even menacing, but it’d do for a test run. The firebomb was packaged into an easy-to-break clay vial. 

“You want to do the honors?”

“You certain? It’s your potion.”

Severus shrugged. “I like my eyebrows being intact and not scorched.” 

Laughing, Hermione grabbed the vial, wound up, and chucked it right at the inferi. It shattered on impact, and with a massive FWOOM, the beast lit up in silver-black fire. Severus instinctively threw her behind him and threw up a ward, realizing a moment later that his reaction was both merited and extremely prudent, as the silver fire licked against his shield. 

Hermione was grabbing his arm, and poked her head out from behind him. She let out a low whistle. “Damn,” she said. “The boys are gonna love that.” 

Severus rolled his eyes. 

By three in the morning, they’d completed a few batches of his experimental firebombs. He’d conjured a pair of armchairs for them to sit in by the fireplace in his office, with Granger reading the book on memory potions and Severus grading essays. One of her timers dinged, signalling another brew ready to be packaged. Severus stood, but Granger didn’t stir. 

“Granger?” 

No response. 

“Hermoine?” 

Still nothing. 

He crept closer, crouching down in front of her. She was curled around her book, head falling against the side of the armchair, eyes shut peacefully. Some of her hair had come free from its bun and framed her face. She was definitely asleep. 

Fuck. 

Okay, well… First things first. Severus went to the potions classroom, and carefully poured amounts of his potion into the easily disposable clay phials he’d chosen for them. Once the station was cleaning itself up, he returned to Hermione in his office. 

Transfiguring the chair he’d been sitting on into some sort of divan, he went over, gathered his courage, and gently picked her up. She was remarkably light. Had she been eating properly since she returned from the war? Fuck, he’d have to check in with Minerva about that one. Placing her on the divan, he settled her into what he assumed was a passable sleeping position, then tugged her wand from her hair. It exploded into a bun, and Severus nearly made some undignified startled noise by the sudden brown curls assaulting his face. Stifling his reaction, he transfigured a stool into a nightstand and placed her wand on it, along with her book, notes, and a quick scribbled explanation of where she was. 

She shivered. 

Fuck. Okay. Yeah, the dungeons were cold. Standing, Severus grabbed his robes from where they were thrown over his desk. A wave of his hand enchanted them with a heating charm, then transfigured them into a black blanket. He covered her in the newly minted blanket, tucking it in around her neck. 

“Maoww.” 

Severus jumped, whirling around to see the cat. Crookshanks, she’d called him. 

“You,” he accused the cat. “Look at what your mistress has done.” He gestured at Hermione. Her only response was to shift in her sleep, snuggling in deeper with his robes-turned-blanket. He glared at her sleeping form. She looked very comfortable--which was both a relief to him, and slightly infuriating given that this cat was _judging him for it. _

“Mee-ow,” the cat said, looking at Severus pointedly. 

“Don’t give me that face,” he told the cat. “I’m not accustomed to having people pass out in my office, okay? I’m not exactly the comforting type, if you hadn’t noticed.” He gestured at Hermione. “Go, I don’t know, cuddle with her or something. Whatever it is you felines do.” 

The cat licked its nose, then walked forward, brushing between Severus’ legs as it did so, the long puffy orange tail twining around his thigh. Then Crooks leaped up onto the divan and curled up over Hermione’s feet. 

“Good cat,” Severus said, then glanced at the damage to his pants. It looked like a Weasley had exploded on them. “Eugh, I’m going to need a de-hairing charm.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading! 
> 
> This is going to be a long chapter & please be gentle! I did my best to adhere to lore.

With a tremendous yawn, Hermione stretched out in bed and stretched her arms up. Unexpectedly, she found herself rolling against a padded wall. What was that doing there? Blearily, she opened her eyes. 

The light from the ceiling was like looking up through a great body of water. Was she under the Black Lake? Or was it just enchanted? Where had she seen that window before?

...Snape’s office.

She tried to throw herself into a sitting position, but realized then that Crooks was asleep on her chest. Well, ‘asleep.’ Being dead, he definitely did not need sleep anymore. 

Out of habit, she reached up and began to scratch beneath his chin, looking around as Crooks started up his jet-engine purr. She was definitely in Snape’s office, which begged the question, _what the fuck?_ She’d been brewing with him, then… had she fallen asleep? 

Hermione had never realized how easy it was to mess with Snape. As long as he didn’t seem too bothered by her banter, she was going to continue to be a little cheeky. It was worth it to see him lighten up. 

Her comments about his clothing had hit home, she’d noticed. It confirmed her suspicions that he used his beloved frock coats to keep the rest of the world from seeing who he was. All of that made her itch to unravel him. Sure, he wasn’t a good person, but he was clearly making an effort--especially nowadays, after the war, he seemed to really be working to be someone new. Selfish as it was, she wanted to be there for that. It had started when she saved him at the Shack, and just ramped up from there. 

“What the bloody hell is that noise--” The door burst open, and Snape stared down at her and Crooks. 

“Morning,” she mumbled. “Sorry I fell asleep.”

“Is that. Your cat? Is your cat making that noise?”

“Yeah, he’s purring. Why?”

Snape reached a hand up and ran it through his hair. “I think it might be damaging the structural integrity of the dungeons.” 

It was then that she realized he was just in a black button-up shirt and pants. The shirt was rolled up to his elbows, revealing the pale skin of his forearms, dotted with scars. His hair was up again. She liked it up, it looked good. And he was wearing glasses, rectangular lenses with emerald frames. It made him look more like a professor, and less like a shadowy specter of doom risen from the depths of the dungeons. 

“I like your glasses.” 

“My--oh.” He glanced around, looking suddenly very uncomfortable. “I’m going to go finish brewing, get yourself to breakfast. Preferably before your cat brings the castle crumbling down on us.” 

He vanished so quickly she wondered if he’d run away. It wouldn’t surprise her if he had. 

“Thanks for the sofa and blanket!” she called after him. There was no response, so she turned to Crooks. “Okay, Crooks,” she told her cat. “You heard the man.” 

Crooks made a great show of yawning and stretching before he got up, which told her for certain that he had not been sleeping. 

After he got off of her chest, Hermione stood and grabbed her wand to re-transfigure things into their previous states. The divan popped back up into an armchair, the table became a stool. Hermione tucked the book into the corner of her arm before she transfigured the blanket, and realized that it was his robes. 

Damn, how many layers did that man wear? He must have the button-up, coat, and then the robes. That was excessive. Also, his robes were absolutely covered in cat hair. With a sigh, she folded them up and decided to bring them back to her quarters, where she could clean them more thoroughly after all of this was over with. 

A tempus charm on the way back to the Gryffindor tower told her that it was about a half an hour before breakfast. Time enough for a quick shower and meeting up with Harry. 

She found him in the common room, going over a map of the castle and its defenses with Ginny and Neville. Wandering over, she stifled a yawn. 

“Hey,” Harry said, squeezing her in a side hug. “We’re just doing some final review before the preparations today.”

“How are things looking?” she asked. “I was up until three brewing with Se--Professor Snape, so I’m a little out of the loop.” 

“Merlin, Hermione,” Ginny murmured. “You gotta take care of yourself.” 

She shrugged. “It was fun. Anyway?”

Harry nodded. “Ron and most of the Quidditch players will be joining Hooch with the aerial defense,” he said. “Neville’s gonna grab the sword and help out Flitwick with any ground-level defense. Ginny’ll be backing them up. The Patil twins will be helping Pomfrey with field medicine. Luna’s helping Hagrid wrangle all of his animals to safety, with the exception of the thestrals, because fuck knows what they’re gonna do. I’ll be helping out with the ground fighting, unless you’ve got a better idea.”

Hermione shook her head. “I think it’d be prudent to keep your broom on you. Severus made up this inferi-burning firebomb--it’s absolutely _brilliant,_ we’ve got nearly two hundred ready to go--and it’s very, uh, excitable.” She cleared her throat pointedly. “Might be safer to deliver the payload from the air.” 

“Oh, I love it,” Harry muttered.

She rolled her eyes, realizing only a moment later that she was mimicking Severus’ exact reaction from the night before. “That’s what I told him you’d say.” 

“Honestly, I’m really glad that both of our Hogwarts battles will involve pyrotechnics.” Neville grinned a little. 

Hermione chuckled. “Anyway, I’m going to go take a shower, brewing works havoc on my hair and I want to face my undeath smelling decent.”

Ginny giggled. “That’s the spirit, Hermione!”

“Okay, I’ll see you at breakfast!” Harry beamed at her, then frowned at the bundle of black in her arms. “Is that Snape’s bloody cloak?”

“Robes,” she said with a shrug. 

“How--you know what, never mind.”

Rolling her eyes again, she swatted his arm. “Guttermind. He just transfigured them into a blanket for me, and I figured the only decent thing to do was to get Crooks’ cat fur off of them.”

Harry burst out laughing, but Ginny just cocked her head to the side, frowning. “Crooks?” she asked. “Are you still getting his hair out of your stuff, Hermione?”

“Oh, no. I forgot to mention, Crooks has returned as a semi-ghost-thing to help deal with the undead army. See you all at breakfast.” 

While she was showering, her mind wandered to potions. Obviously she needed to invent a sort of memory restoration potion--the book she was borrowing from Severus made it clear that such a thing had not been previously invented, but might be possible. It would be a bitch and a half, as Severus liked to call things. 

_… Severus. When did he become Severus?_ That was… 

That was something she was not about to address the day before another life-endangering battle. Besides, it was probably just her getting ready for the shift in their relationship that would come with her no longer being his student and instead being his apprentice. That was also probably his reason for adjusting the way he talked to her. She shouldn’t over-analyze that. 

She needed to focus on the battle, and what else she’d have to do to prepare for it. 

Severus having her make fire resistance potion gave her an idea. She was shit at being in the air, and everyone knew that, but she had Crooks--and Crooks was excellent at tracking Rabastan. She knew a few modifications that could be made to potions to extend their effects, and if she extended the effects of a fire resistance potion, made a couple… she could more effectively function during battle. It might even help her chase down Rabastan. The ingredients weren’t too expensive, and she actually had all of them already. (She might’ve been stockpiling for her apprenticeship.)

After she was done showering, she set up the cauldron of potion in her bathroom, charmed it to brew automatically, then headed down to breakfast. 

Harry plopped down across from her, and while they ate she told him of her plan. He nodded. “If anyone can pull that sort of shit off, it’s you. I’ll try and follow you from the air, then.” 

“That’d be nice. I can put a tracking charm on myself for you, in case I have to go in the forest.” 

“Fuck, I hope not. That place is hell to navigate when you’re not on a broom.” Harry scrunched up his face as he pushed eggs onto his toast. 

“What are your plans for the rest of the day?” Hermione asked, grabbing another piece of toast. She paused to wave at Ginny as the redhead sat down next to Harry. 

Harry embraced Ginny with a side hug as he responded. “I was going to go help wrangle the animals with Luna and Hagrid, then get some rest. It’s weird knowing when shit will go down.” 

Hermione snorted. “I hope we’ve got the time right. He might start the ritual early, just to fuck with us. He has to know we’re aware of him, he must have seen the wards go up.” It had looked just like before the other battle, all gorgeous and shiny and pretty much a direct sign that Hogwarts knew something was coming. “I hope he needs some sort of planetary or lunar alignment for this, because otherwise he could start whenever.” 

Ginny grabbed a plate for her breakfast, glancing between them.

“He’ll probably go for darkness either way,” Harry said, sighing. “Whether that means cloud cover or night, I don’t know. I just know that Dark Wizards love their mood lighting.”

Hermione chuckled along with him, buttering up her toast. “Scholomance was known for weather magic. My bet is on that.”

“It’s overcast already,” Ginny put in, with a grave look. 

Once again, Harry sighed. “We’ll have to tell McGonagall.”

“Yeah. I’ll probably go help Severus brew, I know he was working on something when I left this morning.”

Harry paused, frowning at his toast, then up at her. 

Ginny froze, then looked at Hermione slyly. “Left this morning?” she asked. 

Hermione sighed, rolling her eyes. “You are incorrigible. I was up until three brewing in preparation for the battle! I told you this! That’s all.” 

Giggling, Ginny shrugged. “I know. I’m just teasing.” She paused, then, waggling her eyebrows, “Although I wouldn’t be _surprised_ either.” 

_“Ginny!”_

“Hey, yeah,” Harry said, eyes widening with realization. “She called Snape by his first name earlier. That’s a sign if there ever was one.” 

Hermione buried her face in her palms. “Kill me.” 

“Is that a yes?” Ginny asked through her laughter.

“No!”

“You know…” Harry paused, looked around, and then leaned in conspiratorially, lowering his voice so only they could hear. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he likes you. I felt his emotions towards my mom, okay? She meant a lot to him but he’s not in love with her anymore, he just misses her dearly and blames himself ‘cause she was his only friend. I wouldn’t be surprised if he moved on to the brightest witch of our age who, may I add, saved his ass after that snake.” 

“Shh!” Hermione hissed. 

Ginny’s eyes flew open. “Wait,” she said, also leaning in. “That was you? Hermione, I thought Headmistress McGonagall said that…”

With a sigh, Hermione nodded. “Yes. He… I didn’t want him to be indebted to someone again, okay?” She put her elbows on the table, and buried her face in her hands. “And he was lashing out at everyone. He didn’t want to be here. He doesn’t want to be here. McGonagall took credit and said she’d just make sure he was safe. I didn’t know he was coming back to teach, but it makes sense, because it’s the easiest way for her to keep an eye on him and I’m sure she’s probably wrangled it so that if he gives me a Mastery then he’s ‘cleared’ of his debt to her.” She bit back the tears. 

“Holy shit,” Ginny whispered. 

Harry reached across the table, and squeezed her forearm. “I’m sorry for upsetting you, Hermione,” he murmured. “But I’m being honest here. He… I think he’s found a new lease on life. Look at him, Hermione.” 

Against her better judgement, she did. 

He was sitting at the head table, talking animatedly with Hooch and Vector. It wasn’t as animated as some people got, but it was certainly a great deal more energetic than old Snape. 

“I think you did a good thing,” Harry said. “And I don’t think he’s ‘giving’ you a mastery, let alone for releasing his debt. McGonagall knows what he’s been through, and she’s not manipulative like that. Not… not like Dumbledore.” 

Hermione sighed. “I hope so. Even if he was an asshole all those years, and even if he’s still an asshole, someone needed to recognize the pain he went through.” 

“He’s not an asshole anymore,” Ginny said. “He keeps punishing people for using slurs in his classes. Gordon was just the first, he’s been very strict about no more blood purity in his classrooms. I overheard Flitwick saying that he and Snape were even working together on a project of some kind.” 

Were they? That warmed her heart a little. Maybe Severus was going to be okay. She’d been so worried when she’d seen that same reckless self-endangerment and lack of care. 

She should probably stop thinking about him as Severus now. 

“Okay,” she said, removing her hands from her face once she was certain she wasn’t crying. “That’s… good. Also irrelevant. We have to deal with an undead army tonight, guys, not just spend the entire time needling me about my lack of a love life.” 

She and Harry went to talk to McGonagall after breakfast, and from there were sent to Sinistra, who gave them a list of possible astronomical occurrences to track, including the rising times of different planets and the moon, as well as the precise time of sunset. These were dispersed to the leaders of the defense teams, to be aware of things that might precipitate the ritual. 

After that was done, Hermione checked on her fire resistance potion, adjusted the charms to allow it to brew itself, then headed to the dungeons. 

Severus was there already, bottling more of his fire. Against her better judgement, Hermione paused to watch him. 

He was wearing his frock coat again, although it wasn’t fully buttoned and he’d rolled up the sleeves. She couldn’t blame him. It was bloody hot in there. As he carefully portioned out the explosive concoction, she watched the faded Dark Mark flicker in and out of her view. The way the snake twined around the skull reminded her of chain links. 

He had on his glasses too, she realized. Even if he’d been embarrassed about them that morning. They really did look good on him. Maybe she was just a sucker for glasses. Hermione wasn’t sure. 

“Is there something wrong?” he asked without his eyes moving from his careful dispensing of potion. 

“Oh, no, sorry. I just didn’t want to interrupt.”

He made an unconvinced noise, putting down the vial he was filling and stoppering it. “What do you need?”

“I’m here to help brew,” she said, ducking out of her own robes and beginning to braid her hair so it’d be out of her way. “It’s bloody hot in here. Anything specific that needs to be handled?”

“Uh.” He seemed startled, or at least unprepared, glancing around the room, then frowned at her. “You don’t want to spend the day with your friends?”

Hermione laughed and shook her head. “Severus, we’re very accustomed to splitting up in preparation for a battle.” 

“Oh. Right. That makes sense, I suppose.” He looked around again. “There’s going to be a lot of need for burn salve, if you want to get on that--and then I could use help transporting these gently up to the different defense teams. Hooch cornered me after I told the staff about them. She’s quite excited, wants to carpet bomb everything. I don’t think I’ve seen her this eager since we repaired the quidditch field.” He wrung his hands together. “Nobody seems concerned that the potion isn’t well tested.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “That’s because you’re brilliant, Sev. How large of a batch should I make for burn salve?”

“S--” He paused, blinked, and readjusted himself. “Fifty? We’ve got a good stock already, I just don’t think any of these students should be trusted near this much fire.” He paused, and ran a hand through his hair. “We’ll also need a way to put out the fire, although I suppose we could just conjure water from the lake.” 

“Alright.” Hermione tied off her braid and twisted it up into a bun, using a hair tie to constrain it, then sticking her wand through it. “I’ll get on the burn salve. How long until you want to move the firebombs?”

“Give me twenty minutes to finish packaging these, then we can move them.” 

It was eighteen minutes later that the alarm bells sounded. Literally. 

“Fuck,” Snape said. 

Hermione snatched her wand from her hair, and twirled it at the cauldron, putting a stasis charm on it. “How many of the firebombs are already out with the teams?”

“Hundred and fifty,” he replied, pouring one more firebomb with remarkably steady hand. “I’ll grab this crate, there’s another on the table, can you get it to Hooch?”

“Yeah.” Hermione grabbed it, cast a stasis charm on it and a few non-jostling charms, then hurried away with the crate. 

Hooch was perched on the parapets like a gargoyle with her hawklike eyes. “Granger!” she called as Hermione approached. Her eyes gleamed when she saw the crate. “Oh, wonderful.” She rubbed her hands together. “Thomas! Get these to your squadrons.” 

Dean came over, and offered a grin and a nod to Hermione. “Hey.”

“I spelled the crate to protect against shaking them too hard, but you should still be careful,” she said as she handed it over. 

“Oh, I know.” His eyes grew wide and he shot a glance at Hooch, who was shouting orders at other kids. “Hooch went on a test flight with one, nearly blew herself up already. I’ve never seen her this happy.”

Hermione sighed and rolled her eyes as she transferred over the box. “Good to know.”

“Yeah. See you when this is all over.” 

He walked off, and Hermione paused to assess the battleground. The undead giants were already visible, their bony forms hovering like nightmares at the edge of the forest. 

There was a sharp crack from the air beside Hermione, and McGonagall appeared with Harry side-along. 

“Shit,” Hermione breathed. “I thought apparition was blocked in Hogwarts.”

“Not for the Headmistress,” McGonagall replied, stepping up to the crenelations and raising a pair of enchanted binoculars to her eyes. “Hooch!”

“Yes, Headmistress?” the Madam answered, appearing from wherever she’d last been shouting. 

“If their forces start moving towards that memorial, begin your runs. That’s always where he starts. I don’t know if he needs to break it, but I’m willing to bet he wants to break it in front of us. And be careful of airborne intruders.”

“Aye, ma’am.” Hooch disappeared back towards her teams. 

Hermione swallowed hard. “Harry, I may need to ride with you on your broom.”

“Any time. You ready for battle?”

She hesitated. “I need to grab some stuff from my room. And get a lot of those explosives.” 

“Me too. I’m eager to see what you cooked up with Snape.” He grinned. 

She rolled her eyes, leaning against the mortar of the castle and searching for any forms besides the giants. “It was all Sev, really. I just followed instructions. Oh, and he let me throw the first one at a captured inferi. But that was mostly so he didn’t light on fire.” 

“Sev, is it now?” Harry asked, leaning in and waggling his brows. 

She shoved his face back. “Shut up. Focus.” 

“He only ever let Lily call him Sev.”

Hermione froze and stared at McGonagall, who was still looking out at the battlefield. Harry copied Hermione’s movements. 

“I’ve managed to get him to respond to it after thirty years,” she continued. “And the first few times, he still tried to hex me. I think Septima still has to call him Severus.”

Hermione could feel her pulse in the back of her throat. “He--didn’t hex me,” she said, finally. 

“No. Indeed he did not.”

Hermione opened and closed her mouth several times, feeling very much like a fish. “I don’t know what that means.”

“Neither do I, my dear.” McGonagall reached over and hugged Hermione to her side. “But I think he appreciates you, at the very least.”

“I’m glad,” Hermione whispered. “I’m going to go grab what I need for the battle. Harry, meet you back here?”

“You got it, boss.” 

Hermione rolled her eyes. McGonagall snickered. 

“Good luck, you two. I’ll be in contact.” She withdrew her arm from around Hermione and apparated away. 

***

Hermione re-emerged onto the crenelations prepared for battle. She’d transfigured a belt into a bandolier, which was fitted with multiple slots for the firebombs, and a pouch for her fire resistance potions. The rest of her clothes were simple, comfortable, and relatively skin-tight to ensure they wouldn’t catch fire. She wore washed jeans and a t-shirt, and she’d ditched the robes for a hoodie. Crooks was perched on her shoulder, like a very lightweight tiger. 

The noise was the first thing she noticed. She rushed to the crenelations, and saw what everyone was screaming about--the inferi were coming through the lake, surging up against the castle’s wards and scrabbling like a thousand chomping mouths. The giants had begun to lumber across the field, swatting at the wizards that came too close with uprooted trees. Inferi acromantulas were spewing poison at the airborne wizards. 

“Fuck,” she hissed. 

Crooks perked up. 

“Harry!” she shouted, fighting the crowds to find her friend, glancing down to find that swarms of inferi were crawling across the causeway. That was terrifying. Finally, she stumbled over to Harry, where he was standing by the crenelations, hurling spells at the undead on the causeway. “Crooks perked up. Rabastan’s here.” 

He looked up from where his fireball singed a dozen inferi. He adjusted his grip on the broom, and held it out to her. “Right. Get on.” 

“You realize they told us specifically not to do this.”

“When has that ever stopped us?” he replied. “Get on.” 

She did, hopping on behind him and grabbing him tightly. Crooks hopped off of her shoulder and perched in front of Harry, presumably to guide them. 

Before they took off, she handed Harry a couple of her fire resistant potions. “Here. Take these if you’re getting too close to the flames.”

“Thanks.” He stuffed them in his pockets. “Okay. Hold on, and get ready to firebomb. And… don’t blame me if I pull some stunts.”

“Harry James Potter, if you drop me, I’ll--”

Hermione’s threat was lost in a shriek as they launched forward. Oh god she had forgotten how much she hated flying. The world rushed past her as the wind whipped at her eyes and body, biting through the skin-tight layers she’d worn. Hermione became distantly aware that she was chanting “fuck, fuck, fuck” but the words were stolen by their speed before she could hear them. Focusing on the warmth and security of Harry, she released one of her arms from him and grabbed a firebomb. 

The broom cornered, and Hermione’s stomach released from her body and shot off on their original trajectory. Or at least it felt like that. A moment later, they were zigzagging between the blows of a giant. Gritting her teeth, Hermione twisted and threw. 

The air reverberated with power, and the giant staggered, silver fire clinging to its form like Hermione was now clinging to Harry. 

“Nice!” he shouted over the noise. 

“Fuck!” she screamed back at him. 

He was laughing, she could feel that. Grabbing another vial, she bit down hard on her lip and threw again. The taste of iron filled her mouth, and the giant was flattened to the ground, an unholy wailing coming from it as it was consumed by silver flames. 

Harry zipped upwards, and as they crested in the air, Hermione had a chance to pause for breath. A moment later, she screamed a counterspell as purple light shot from the woods beneath them. The curse rebounded off of her spell, and a moment later they shot forward, a new green light crackling uselessly into the air behind them. 

“Fuck!” she screamed again. 

“Agreed!” he called back. 

That was Rabastan.

Hermione grabbed Harry and looked around. The other students were doing a very good job of dodging and hitting the giants with the firebombs, and the huge swarms of inferi were now huge, flaming swarms of inferi. That was a little worrying, but the silver-black fire was burning them to crisps almost as fast as it spread. Crooks was intent on the forest, his eyes practically glowing with ferocity. 

Releasing Harry with one arm, Hermione reached for her fire resistance potion. She just managed to swallow it down when Harry shouted something and then they were upside down and then she was no longer on the broom--she was instead headed towards the ground. 

Instinctively, Hermione’s magic pushed off of the ground and she was floating more slowly, landing harmlessly on the back of a prone, flaming giant. She stumbled a little on its massive ribs, then stood up and looked around. 

Inferi were trying to approach her and getting swallowed up by the silver flames. With a grin, Hermione grabbed her wand from her hair and felt her braid fall down. 

With a broad swirl of her wand, Hermione gathered the fire around her. Silver and black pooled and danced around her form, coalescing into a roiling ball above her head. It was like controlling her bluebell flames, but more powerful, and she could feel the fire straining against her control. 

Flinging her hands apart, she let the ball of fire wash down on her and explode outwards in a wave of flames that flung inferi into the air as they were hit. The scent of scorched flesh suffused her lungs, and for once, Hermione didn’t mind. 

Turning, Hermione gathered another smaller ball of the silver-black flames and let it hover over her shoulder as she looked into the forest. 

He was right there.

Rabastan snarled, raising both his hands and his mouth forming words that Hermione couldn’t hear or discern. A moment later, an orange blur signaled Crooks’ appearance beside her. 

“Hey, Crooks,” she greeted him, not taking her eyes or her wand off of Rabastan. A moment later she swung her wand and shouted, “Stupefy!”

Rabastan twisted out of the way and a moment later the ground shifted beneath her. 

Hermione’s mind went to both ‘earthquake’ and ‘probably dying’ at the same time and she tucked and rolled to the side as the flaming inferi giant that she was standing on pushed itself up and began to limp, still flaming, towards a sudden surge of inferi at the middle of the battlefield. 

She could hear Harry screaming. 

The monster began to form, and she realized almost immediately that it was the beast from their dreams. A moment later, she realized that she’d been picked up by the tide of inferi and was being pulled towards the creature, like the worst crowd surfing you could ever imagine. 

“Oh, so this is how we’re gonna do it.”

Harry was still shouting. She twisted to yell back at him, threading her wand into her hair firmly. 

“Remember the fucking polyjuice recipe!” And then she chugged another fire resistance potion. 

The world went black as the inferi swallowed her into their masses.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay i couldn't actually stay mean, have the next chapter LOL

They were crawling. 

Everywhere. 

They were gnawing. 

Everywhere. 

Hermione came to in a suffocating world of darkness. Thousands of bodies moved around her, bones chittering from the multitude of inferi. Smothering. She would’ve vomited, but she couldn’t. It seemed like the air was so close and pressurized that it was physically repressing her body’s attempts to throw up. The air was thick with blood and stench and they were pushing her, moving her in concerted undulations like muscles. 

She fought to get a hand through the swarming throng of bodies to find her bandolier of explosives. Grabbing one, she brought it to her lips and whispered a charm to it. It would be broken when she signalled. She let it go into the throng. Four more times she repeated the procedure, planting them as she moved up the creature. 

When she saw light, she knew what it would be before they hoisted her into position. 

Hermione grabbed her final bomb and held it close to her chest as the leech-like mouth opened. Jagged bones undulated in front of her. They were pushing her towards it, seeking to chew her from the inside out. 

Once they lifted her to the back of the beast’s throat, she clenched the vial in her hand. 

Clay shattered and shards bit deep into her flesh. A moment later, silver and black exploded in front of her eyes. 

The resistance potion protected her from the heat, but not from the force, of the explosion. Fire poured around her and she was shoved out the back of the beast’s neck. She managed to trigger her other explosives and cast a slowing charm on herself as she was thrown towards the canopy of the Forgotten Forest. 

Midair, she watched as the explosives detonated within the creature’s back, sending shattered pieces of undead flesh everywhere. There were more bombs dropping, detonating on its sides, and then there were leaves. 

She hit branches on the way down. A lot of them. A lot of twigs, too. By the time she finally clutched a network of branches against her chest and gently lowered herself down a vine, she was covered in slices and cuts and she could feel that her cursed scar had reopened. It was throbbing now, like the knife was carving it anew, which was probably how the curse worked anyway. Her legs were numb, probably from shock and pain.

Biting her lip, Hermione transfigured a bandage from the lace of her hoodie, and wrapped it around the wound tightly. As she was finishing tying it off, Crooks appeared, trotting over and rubbing against her with terrifyingly loud purrs. 

“Hey, hey, hush,” she said, cradling him as he purred against her, rubbing her with his face. “I know. I know. It was scary for me too.” 

And now she was in the Forbidden Forest with very little idea of where she was. 

She paused to cradle her cat for a while, just needing an ounce of comfort, which Crooks was happy to provide. Then, drawing in a throbbing lungful of free air that didn’t smell like inferi, she stood, Crooks at her side. 

Hermione gripped her wand tightly and pulled it from her hair. “Let’s finish this, boy.” 

Crooks meowed and looked around, then hurried off in a direction. Hermione wasn’t sure whether it was deeper into the forest or heading out of it. 

After a minute of running on throbbing legs, she heard the chanting. 

His voice was instantly recognizable, even if she’d only heard it a few times before. Those memories were so deeply imprinted on her that she couldn’t forget them no matter how much she wanted to. 

His back was to her. She could start the fight. Honor was not a factor here. Gripping her wand, Hermione wordlessly hurled a stunning spell at him. At the last second it rebounded off of a ward, and he whirled, grasping an ebony wand as he screamed a spell back at her. 

She tumbled to the side, and green light ricocheted off of the tree she’d ducked behind, sending shards of bark flying. She could hear his footsteps coming towards her, and she decided on her favorite tactic. 

Grabbing her last remaining firebomb, she threw it at him. 

It hit. Fire splattered across his form, and as he screamed and writhed, Hermione hit him with a series of counters, removing his protections one by one. Finally, he shouted, “Aguamenti!” and water cascaded over him. The phosphorus in the flames sparked lighter for a moment, but then was extinguished by his magic. 

“Stupefy!” met “Avada kedavra!” and light erupted from their wands. Hermione ducked to the side as the green lightning crackled past her, her stun landing harmlessly on his shoulder. 

He raised his wand and she reacted instinctively, screaming out “Protego!” as he wordlessly threw a Cruciatus at her. The magic lit upon her arm for a moment before she wrenched herself out of its path, but the curse seared her scar anew into her skin, sending burning sparks through her hand. The world fizzled with white light as the pain overwhelmed her, and her knee hit something--the ground, maybe?--as she forced herself to scream out another protego and clutched her wand with her other hand. 

Her scream came out without words, but his next curse-- “Expulso!” --dissipated when it hit the invisible shield. With a growl, she shoved her hands at him, and he was flung backwards as her spell caught his feet, tumbling him to the ground. 

He twisted midair, sending another flash of blue light at her. She deflected it with a wave of her wand, backing up until her body slammed against a tree, the bark rough and jagged against her torn back. 

Hermione whirled her wand, and a mimblewimble flew from it, hitting him firmly in the chest. As he moved to strike with a growl, she sliced her wand back and, without thinking, screamed out the incantation of Dolohov’s curse. 

Purple fire rushed in a line from her wand, catching his leg and eagerly devouring up his torso. Rabastan shrieked and fell backwards, a wordless snarl splitting his face as he shoved both hands at her, fiendfyre pouring from them. 

“Protego!” It was a moment too late, but the fire washed harmlessly over her save for a gentle tingle where it touched. She was about to hit him again when another expulso, weakened by his mispronunciation but still present, cracked her head back against the tree. 

The world shuddered with darkness and Hermione stumbled against the tree. She looked up and down the length of his wand. 

A figure in black stepped from the shadows. 

Severus, Hermione realized. Fuck. 

“S-S-evvverus,” Rabastan managed, still recovering from the tongue-tying. “I am-m… res-urr-ek-ting him.” Rabastan’s eyes glimmered with malice. “J-Join me. We will b-bring aboot th-the next g-great reign of darkness.” 

“You survived,” Severus said, his voice cold. 

“Yes.” Rabastan twisted his arm, showing the still-bloody Dark Mark on it. “He will return. Join me. We will kill the girl.”

“Indeed he will. Did any other of his loyal servants-” the words dripped with venom, and Severus cast a pointed gaze towards Hogwarts “-make it out alive?”

“None. The Chosen One and his cronies made sure of that,” Rabastan spat. “Some of us are in Azkaban. We are the last free Death Eaters left.”

_Brilliant._ Severus was _brilliant._ Hermione had just started hurling spells with reckless abandon, but Severus? Severus was squeezing Rabastan for information, to make sure Voldemort’s cult was well and truly gone. He was a spy through and through.

Severus paused, then approached Hermione. There was no recognition in those dark eyes, no comfort as she lay panting and bloody on the roots of the tree. And then he stepped between Rabastan and Hermione--between her and danger.

Apparently assuming he was safe, Rabastan relaxed, dropping his wand. 

Hermione reacted instantly, screaming out, “Harry, _now!”_

Rabastan twisted towards the forest behind him. Hermione lunged to the side, around Severus, twirled her wand and screamed out “Expelliarmus!” 

Something came flying towards her. Rabastan whirled. Green light arced from him. Severus made a swift, silent slice of his hand, and blood erupted from Rastaban’s back. 

The killing curse sparked uselessly, discharging rather than completing as the pain of Dolohov’s curse wrangled his ability to focus his magic, and he crumpled. A moment later, Rabastan’s wand clattered to the ground in front of Hermione. She giggled. 

Severus reached down and helped her up, grabbing Rastaban’s wand while he was at it. “Fucking hell, Hermione, never do that again.” 

She laughed, leaning heavily against him and letting her head fall on his shoulder. He lead the way over to Rastaban. The cutting curse had severed his spinal cord. She could see it, clean and bloody, right between two vertebra. 

“You’re good,” she panted, stuffing her wand into her belt so she could hold onto him with both arms. The world was starting to spin, and she wanted the support so she could catch her breath. Also, it was fun to watch him not know how to react. “Fuck, you’re good. Spy-smart, that’s what you are. So that’s how you fooled Voldy, is it? Was that the sectum--thing that was in your potions book? How’d you even find me?” She grinned, reaching up to pat his hair. “I think I’m delirious. Am I delirious?” 

“You’re definitely delirious,” he replied, only answering the last question, true to form. “Probably from the mental trauma, magical exhaustion, and blood loss. Can you walk?”

“Mm.” She thought about it, wavered on her feet, and flopped against him. “No. I _could_ take a nap, though.” 

Severus sighed and pinched his nose. Hermione laughed again. 

“You’re cute when you’re trying to be mean. Cute spy,” she told him, then a realization hit her and her face fell. “I think I’m about to pass out.” She looked up at him, searching for recognition in his eyes. “You won’t leave me here, will you?”

“Minerva would neuter me if I did, Hermione.” He bent over a little, and picked her up, bridal style, leaving Rabastan bleeding out on the ground. 

“I like it when you say my name.” She rest her head on his shoulder, wincing a little as the scar on her forearm continued to throb. “Sev. Sev. Sev. Sevvy.” 

“No ‘Sevvy,’” he said. “Or else I’m going to drop you.” 

“Fine,” she mumbled, only pouting a little. 

He stopped in a slight clearing, looked up, and a moment later they were in the air. 

Hermione squeaked, throwing her arms around his neck and ignoring the sudden and sharp pain in her forearm, or the way that he Looked at her when she tried to wrap all available limbs around him. _“Oh fuck oh god.”_

“I see,” he mumbled. “Not a fan of flying. Very well, just… hold on.” 

She whimpered, and he wrapped an arm around her, lowering them to the ground. A moment later, they Apparated. 

After the world stopped spinning, Hermione found herself curled up in the courtyard, clutching very tightly to one of his arms. 

“Hermione,” he said, gently. “Can I please have my arm back.”

She shook her head. 

Another trio of faces appeared in her view. McGonagall, Harry, Madam Pomfrey. Not long after, Harry enveloped her in a tight hug. She held on to Severus’ hand with one arm, clutching his forearm between her knees too, and grabbed on to Harry with the other hand. 

Severus rolled his eyes. “Greedy,” he said, but it held no venom. 

“It’s alright,” McGonagall said, soothingly, smiling at her. “You’re safe now.” She looked over at Severus. “What’s Rabastan’s status?”

“Probably dead,” Severus replied with a shrug. “I might’ve cut his spinal cord open.” 

“Noted.” McGonagall nodded to Pomfrey. “Let’s get Miss Granger to the infirmary, and Severus, if you wouldn’t mind retrieving the body.” 

“I need my _arm_ for that.”


	17. Chapter 17

Hermione was in the Forbidden Forest again. 

This time, it was foggy, a dark grey mist that shuffled away as she took each step and twirled upwards in the gaps between the formidable tree trunks. Hermione looked to her side, and found Crooks there, the only spark of color in an otherwise greyscale world. In front of her, there was a clearing. She hesitantly approached. 

The body of Rabastan was there, his blood blackened and dried. Leaning over his corpse was a hulking figure in a blackened shroud that trailed away into the mist. Skeletal hands were working over the corpse, turning Rabastan’s head to see his face. 

** _\- So you are the one I owe for stopping this man’s machinations. -_ **

Hermione paused, looking at the figure closer. “It’s okay,” she said. “You don’t owe me anything.” There was something eminently familiar about their bearing, and about their voice, which reverberated deep into her being. “Pardon, but do I know you from somewhere?”

**_\- You know me from everywhere. -_** The figure stood, unfurling upwards, a hood obscuring most of their identity. The inside of their cowl was as dark as the nothingness beyond creation, and their skeletal grin implacable. 

“Ah,” Hermione said, mustering all of her British stiff upper lip. “Noted. What… is there something I can do for you?”

They stepped over the body of Rabastan, hovering up to her. **_\- You already have. -_** One skeletal hand indicated the corpse. **_\- Had his ritual completed, he would’ve been able to pull souls back to your world… away from me. I do not suffer thieves. - _**

“Understandable.” Hermione swallowed hard, resting a hand on Crooks’ head for support. “Glad to be of service then, I guess?” 

The empty sockets of their skull gave her a Look that radiated displeasure. **_\- I rarely grant boons to… your kind, but I find myself in your debt. Ask, and I shall give. - _**

Hermione hesitated. If this was real, and not just a sort of trauma-induced vision, then she was not about to be responsible for the next Deathly Hallow. Neither was she keen on pissing off Death. They seemed very touchy about their things. 

“If it’s alright, I think I’ll pass,” she said. “No disrespect intended, of course. I just, uh… people seem awful obsessed with the Deathly Hallows we already have, I’m not keen on having future blood on my head.” 

The skull tilted to the side, as if curious or thoughtful. 

** _\- Very well-- -_ **

“Oh!” Hermione realized suddenly, then recoiled. “Shit. Sorry for interrupting. There’s, uh, one thing, I suppose.” 

Death hissed. **_\- You try my patience. Yes? - _**

Hermione leaned down and gathered up Crooks, kissing his scrunched up face firmly. “I love you, boy,” she whispered. “Thank you for helping me.” Her cat licked away the tears from her cheeks, and purred his jet-engine purr, bumping his head against her. She held Crooks to her for one last time before looking up to Death. “I know he only came back as part of the ritual, or something,” she said. “But he was a big help. And I love him a lot. Please…”

** _\- Do you wish for your cat to be returned to you? - _ **

She shook her head, brushing her tears off on her shoulder and sniffling a little. “It was his time, sir--ma’am--er, I don’t know how to properly address you, apologies. But, uh, anyway. If you could just… take care of Crooks, for me? Please? He’s a wonderful cat.” 

Death was silent for a moment, and then Hermione could’ve sworn the smile grew, impossible as it was. The aura of anger dissipated, replaced by... was that amusement? Amusement and something else. Hermione would've called it 'respect' if she were anyone noteworthy and this was anyone besides Death. Two bony hands gently took Crooks from her, lifting him up and away. Crooks scrambled up to perch on Death’s shoulder. **_\- It would be my pleasure and honor. - _**

Hermione managed a smile, brushing away tears with both of her sleeves. “Thank you. Sorry for all the blubbering.” 

**_\- It is hardly the worst I have seen. -_** Death reached up a hand and brushed it down Crooks’ length. **_\- Miss Granger… I think that, if you research into it, you will find that a number of ancient mortal cultures revered cats as the gatekeepers of the afterlife. They are correct about that. -_** They lowered their hand, looking down at her from their terrifying height of black swirling smoke. **_\- Crookshanks was not resurrected by Rabastan. He returned as my emissary to stop this ritual. He has been successful, and will be rewarded appropriately. I promise you that he will be well-cared for. - _**

“Thank you,” Hermione whispered. “I really appreciate it. I’ll… see you again, someday.” 

Death nodded. **_\- And you shall greet me as an old friend. Send your Potter my regards. He has also done me great services. - _**

“I will. See you around, er. Sir? I’m sorry, I don’t…” 

** _\- I do not have gender. That is a mortal concept. You may address me by whatever you wish, so long as it is said with respect. - _ **

“Thanks. See you around.” 

** _\- Farewell, Hermione Granger. I will make certain to bring all of your past and future cats when we meet again. - _ **

Hermione grinned and laughed. “That would be absolutely wonderful.” 

***

When Hermione awoke again, it was in the infirmary. 

It was sunny and warm and Harry was at the bedside, scratching his head at what looked like arithmancy. He was healthy and whole. 

“Need my answers?” she croaked out. 

He looked up and his face lit with a smile. “Hermione! You’re awake!” 

“Yeah,” she managed, pushing herself into more of a sitting position with her healthy arm. The one with the cursed wound was still throbbing with pain. “How much did I sleep?”

“Oh, just a few hours. Severus’ll be so happy to see you!”

“Severus now, is it?”

Harry laughed. “Yeah. I started calling him that after he nearly throttled me for ‘dropping’ you.” 

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Yeah, right.” 

“I’m not kidding. He said that if he hadn’t just spent the last two decades of his life trying to save my ass, he would’ve murdered me on the spot.” Harry paused. “I am sorry for that. Truly. I can’t believe I nearly killed you. It was stupid of me.” 

Hermione shook her head. “Don’t worry about it. It was bound to happen at some point. Honestly, I planned for it.” 

_“Hermione!”_

“What? What goes up must come down!”

Harry laughed, although he still looked guilty. 

“Oh, by the way. Death told me to tell you thanks for dealing with Voldy or whatever.”

Harry paused, blinked, and arched a brow. “That’s a ‘by the way’ statement, huh?”

She shrugged, adjusting herself on the mound of pillows provided. “I don’t know if it was actually Death. Might’ve been a hallucination.” Relaxing back, she grabbed a glass of water with her good hand and took a sip. “Given the nature of our recent dreams, though, I think I feel comfortable putting a little stock in this one.” 

“Huh,” said Harry. “Well, it’s not the weirdest thing I’ve heard today.” 

“And, pray tell, what is the weirdest thing you’ve heard today?”

“Probably Severus Snape yelling at the Aurors that showed up for not responding to the distress signal and instead letting the brightest witch of our age go and nearly get herself killed. Oh, and then he made them mop up the battlefield. He made Forwit participate in that, too.” 

Hermione rolled her eyes. “You’re just being silly now.” 

“I’m actually completely serious. McGonagall didn’t even try and stop him, except for when he tried to take their wands. She just poured herself firewhiskey and watched. Let me have some, too.” 

“You are lying, Harry Potter!” 

Harry shook his head. “Kingsley’s here. He’s really pissed, going to look at the behavior of the current DMLE leader. Apparently I also might be graduating early with you, to start on Auror training so I can serve as a liaison between the school, Auror office, and Kingsley.”

Hermione paused. That seemed plausible. “You’re… serious, aren’t you?”

Harry nodded. It suddenly struck Hermione how tired he looked. 

“Fuck,” Hermione whispered, drawing her aching legs up to her chest and hugging them tight. “I… I mean, it sort of feels like an overreaction, but I also don’t know what a proper reaction for the ministry is, given that up until now all they’ve really done is posture.” 

“Yeah, same here, honestly.” Harry rubbed his face with his hands. “I appreciate the fact that they’re taking these threats seriously. It seemed like before they were content to let kids constantly endanger their lives. I hope Kingsley manages to change that, or at least pave the way so that we can change it when we get old enough to hold office.” 

Hermione sighed. “I trust him. Either way I’ll probably end up running for Minister for Magic to make sure progress continues. Unless you want to.” 

Harry snorted. “That’s the least surprising news ever. And I don’t. I don’t have a head for politics, not like you.” 

“Unfortunately,” Hermione murmured. She swung her legs off the bed and carefully stood up, Harry darting to her side to help her. “Okay… yeah. I think I can walk. Grab my hoodie, will you? I’m keen to give some of those Aurors a piece of my mind.”

With a chuckle, Harry grabbed her hoodie and helped her put it on. “That’s my sister.” 

The hallways weren’t bad, but the stairs were. Apparently her body did not appreciate getting tossed around so much. She kept one hand on the handrail, the other arm supported by Harry, and it took all of her focus to get down the stairs without stumbling. 

When she looked up, she found the Great Hall silent, with almost everyone looking at her. 

There were hardly any students, she realized. Neville and Luna were there, along with Ginny. All three of them looked absolutely livid. They were squaring down with a handful of Aurors. Forwit was seated in a corner, pale and doing his best to camouflage with the mortar of the walls. McGonagall was seated at the front of the room, a glass of firewhiskey in one hand and her wand in the other. Kingsley, standing at her side, wore a thunderous frown.

Severus, for his part, was looming over the Aurors, and Hermione nearly giggled at how similar he looked to Death. He was tall, but not that tall, but it seemed like he easily dwarfed each of them. 

McGonagall was the first person to speak. “I’m glad to see you’re awake, Granger,” she said. 

Severus’ focus snapped over to her. The looming stopped immediately, as if it had been turned off by a lightswitch. “Hermione!”

“See?” Harry muttered beside her. 

Hermione shot him a look, then turned her attention back to Severus, who was billowing over. He put his hands on her shoulders, and looked her up and down, as if checking for injuries. 

“I’m alright,” she assured him. 

Severus made a sort of unsatisfied, sharp exhalation of air, then twirled around to loom from behind her. That was actually faintly reassuring. “This is the girl who did your job for you,” he snapped at the Aurors. “From discovering the plot of Rabastan Lestrange, to defeating him.”

“I would actually like to discuss that,” Hermione said with the sweetest smile she could muster. “Seeing as how the Auror Department seems to enjoy employing child warriors, I believe that they should either begin paying Hogwarts for the use of its students in averting nationwide magical crises, or begin to _do their fucking jobs.”_

The Auror who looked like the head of the party held his chin up a little. “I understand that you’ve been given the Order of Merlin. Isn’t that glory enough for you?” 

Hermione couldn’t help it. She laughed at him. “Glory is a lie. The only words that politicians mean are the ones that they say when they wave their wands. ‘Thank you’ and ‘sorry’ are both meaningless without action. I can name all of the Aurors who have risked their lives for Harry Potter on both my hands. Less than ten! That is _despicable.”_ She lifted her chin defiantly. “What I did pales in comparison to the past seven years. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. Harry Potter went alone into a forest overflowing with an army of Dark Wizards, knowing he would die. He walked to his death. He _died_ for all of you, after _seven fucking years_ of you and your system failing to keep him safe.” She took a step forward, unaided by Harry or Severus. “You are _**all** complicit.”_

***

Severus marvelled at the girl as she glared at the backs of the retreating Aurors. They hadn’t even given her a response, just got up and left. Kingsley, for his part, was writing up the documents to dishonorably discharge them. 

She was a little beast. Terrifying. And beautiful. 

Okay, he should definitely focus on something else right now. 

The door slammed shut behind the Aurors and a moment later Hermione collapsed backwards. Both he and Potter caught her instinctively, Potter grabbing at her arm and Severus just stepping forward to catch her against his chest. 

“Fuck,” she muttered. “Sorry. Can I sit down?”

Severus just nodded, helping her hobble over to one of the table’s benches. “Are you certain you shouldn’t be resting?”

“No,” she admitted as she sat down with a huge sigh. “But I needed to tear them a new one. God, I haven’t done anything so cathartic since I filled Ron’s mouth with those feathers.”

With an exhale that might’ve constituted laughter, Severus sat down beside her, pulling several potions from his robes. “Here.” He leaned his back against the table, propping one arm on it behind Hermione so that he could half-turn and look past her to Minerva and Kingsley. Also so that he felt more like he was able to protectively hover around his apprentice. 

Potter sat on Granger’s other side. “That was great, Hermione.” He glanced at Kingsley. “I’m just saying, Minister, Granger would make a great successor.”

“That she would,” Kingsley said, looking up and stacking the parchments he held. “Alright, all of those Aurors are dismissed. Potter, I’ll send my ideas and schedule for when you can begin your training, and we can discuss with Minerva to see how it fits in. I’d be happy to take Longbottom on, too, although I hear you’ve got an interest in Herbology?” Kingsley arched a brow at Neville. 

Neville nodded. “That’s, uh, very flattering of you, sir. I’ll definitely think about it. Herbology is my love, though.” 

“Sprout requested my assistance on the apprenticeship paperwork last week,” Severus intoned, ignoring Neville’s surprised flush. “I sent her a copy of the base that I used for Hermione’s apprenticeship, so she need only adjust a few things and then they should be ready. There isn’t another student as talented in or as driven to pursue Herbology as Longbottom, so I expect they’re for him.” 

Thunk. 

Hermione laughed quietly. “Sev, you made him faint.” 

“What?” Severus looked over and realized that the noise he’d heard must’ve been Longbottom’s head hitting the table. “Oh, heaven’s sake.” 

She giggled, leaning against him and whispering into his ear. He ignored the way that her hair tickled at his skin or how her breath was warm against his neck or how big and golden those eyes were when they were this close. “You were his boggart, Sev, I think it’ll take him a bit to get accustomed to you saying nice things about him.” 

Fuck, that was right. He swallowed guiltily. “I probably owe him a toad, don’t I.”

“Dunno, that toad never worked out for him. At least now you know how to make him pass out on command.” She withdrew a little with a wicked smirk. 

“You’re _evil,”_ he told her, unable to keep the pride from his voice. That was his apprentice. His. He was so proud of her and her incredibly evil plans to make him be nice to Neville. 

He didn’t even mind when her smile turned smug. “I know.” 

Kingsley sighed, drawing Severus’ attention. “I have a meeting to make. Expect invitations to another…” His lips thinned and he stood. “Ministry Celebration of Victory soon. Odious as they are, I anticipate certain factors will be eager to re-state how effective the Ministry is.” He paused, looking to Hermione and Harry specifically. “Although I cannot encourage it, of course… I would say that this may create opportunity for some _statements_ to be made.” 

Minerva also stood, shaking his hand. “Thank you, Kingsley. I may hate the rest of the Ministry, but you are excluded from that.”

Severus had to agree. Kingsley was smart, driven, and reliable. Not like literally everyone else in the Ministry. 

“I appreciate that more than you know, Minerva.” 

“Potter.” Minerva gestured to Harry. “Will you see the Minister out? I’m certain he’d enjoy more time to get to know you.” 

Severus gave a supportive nod to Harry as he left. This was basically a job interview for the position of Auror, and Harry looked like he knew it. 

After they had gone, Minerva turned to Hermione, coming over to sit on her other side and patting Hermione’s knee in a very motherly way. “How are you feeling?”

Hermione shrugged. “Tired. But I’ve been through worse.” 

Minerva sighed. “That is… well, I am glad to hear you’re alright.” She shook her head. “As for the rest, I… am sorry. I know Hogwarts has definitely contributed to that, and it kills me.” 

“Headmistress.” Hermione leaned forward, grasping Minerva’s hand between hers. “Please. Understand that you were the only teacher who was always there for us. Flitwick was the only other one who was even close. This wasn’t your fault, and you were the one person that we could rely on at any time.” 

Severus’ gut cinched tighter. He was definitely part of the problem. And not at all part of the solution. 

Brushing away a tear, Minerva nodded. “I appreciate your trust. I spoke with Kingsley and Severus, and we both agree that after you are recovered from your wounds, your N.E.W.T.s will be scheduled. Your conduct during the battle, while risky, demonstrates your thorough understanding of multiple fields of magic, and I can see no reason to delay it any further.” 

Hermione tensed immediately. “O-Oh,” she said. “I… I appreciate the vote of confidence, I just…”

“Your professors will be assisting you in reviewing,” Severus put in, keeping his voice quiet. “I expect there will be very little you don’t know, but the N.E.W.T.s will not proceed until all the professors of the subjects you’re testing in have given their approval.” 

She nodded, albeit still a little slowly. “Okay,” she said. “I just, I always thought I’d have more time.” 

“I could give you the exam tomorrow and you’d be fine. It’ll be alright.” 

She looked between him and Minerva with wide eyes. “If you’re sure,” she said, nibbling at her lip again. His fingers twitched in a desire to take it back from her before she could do any more damage. 

“We are,” Minerva said. 

Hesitantly, Hermione nodded. “Okay. I’ll start studying.”

That wasn’t the point. “No,” Severus said, as gently as he could manage. “You’re going to go rest. And then you can study when you’re awake.” 

She whirled to face him and glared at him, pouting. Those golden eyes got wide and sorrowful and her lip pushed out in a way that made him want to bite it--aaaand he was not going to continue with that train of thought. “You can’t just tell me that I’m going to have my N.E.W.T.s soon and then not let me study!”

“I can, actually,” he said with a shrug, not about to let on how much that pout was affecting him. “I’m mean that way.” Smirking at her, he stood up, offering her a hand. “Now back to the bloody infirmary with you.” 

Groaning, Hermione let herself be picked up, clutching at his arm as she began to walk back towards the stairs. He let her wrap herself around his arm as a support, as she continued to pout. “You’re awful.”

“Yes. This is a known truth, Hermione.” 

Minerva was chuckling. “Luna and Ginny, dears, can you make sure Neville wakes up alright? I’m going to go talk to Sprout about his apprenticeship.” 

They nodded and chattered, so Severus occupied himself with helping Hermione up the stairs. She was not doing too great, and by the third step she already had to stop to catch her breath. 

“Fuck,” she muttered between gasps, leaning against the railing. “I wasn’t even this beat up after the final battle.” 

“To be fair, you fell from the sky at least three times.” 

She rolled her eyes at him. “I wish I could walk.”

He arched a brow at her, earning another eye roll and a breathy laugh. 

“I meant better. We’re not going to make any progress at this rate.” 

Severus shrugged. “Take your time.” 

“No, I mean-” She shut her eyes, and gritted her jaw. “It bugs me, Sev.” 

“Maybe that’ll prevent you from doing such inadvisable things as attacking an entire army of inferi on your own in the future.” 

She swatted him lightly on the arm, looking like she was doing her damndest to hide her smile. “Meanie. Aren’t you supposed to be nice to me when I’m injured?”

“Mm. I must’ve missed the memo.” 

Hermione paused, chewing on her lip. “Sev?”

“What.” 

“Could you--I mean, would it be too much to ask for…” 

He waited, knowing she’d keep digging until he could figure out what she was trying to say. 

“...Maybe could you carry me? Just up the stairs, it’s a lot, I don’t know why I’m having such a hard time.” 

“Your ankle was sprained.” He bent over and gently hoisted her in his arms. 

She squeaked, holding on to him tightly before relaxing a little. “Oh.” 

“And the other leg was fractured.” 

“O-Oh.” 

“I’ll carry you under the condition that you try and not tip us over,” he said, already beginning to march up the stairs. “If you do, I’m going to catch us with magic and make us fly, and I don’t know if you remember, but you hate that.” 

She stared at him. “You got me in the air without me trying to climb you?” 

His lips pressed into a thin line, trying to ignore both the implications of that phrase and the memory of how it had felt to have her clinging so very tightly to him. “No.” 

“Oh.” She flushed. “Sorry. I get clingy whenever I’m in the air.” 

“Trust me, I noticed.” They reached the top of the stairs and he continued to breeze down the hallways, not putting her down. He’d expected her to protest, but instead she was quiet, curled against his chest. He could’ve sworn she was playing with his hair, too. 

When he stepped back into the infirmary with his bundle of Granger, Poppy immediately came over, clucking like a very worried mother hen. She let him carry Granger back into the bed that she was staying in, then chased him off, citing Hermione’s need to sleep. 

Severus decided he needed to go do something very angry and mean in order to get rid of the annoying smell of Hermione on him and that inexcusable tingling she always produced in his stomach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your continued support! <3 We're about halfway through the fic, as near as I can guess?
> 
> In this chapter we say goodbye to Crooks. I lost my childhood dog (who acted more like a sibling, or a cat) about three months ago and so this story is, in many ways, part my coping with that loss. 
> 
> If there is a heaven, it is my only hope that our beloved pets will be there. Dunno if humans deserve an eternal afterlife of happiness--we can be pretty shitty--but our furbabies definitely do. 
> 
> <3 Love you all!


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the official one week online anniversary for this fic! Thank you all for your support over this past week. <3
> 
> I am nearly done with the fic, although I have been distracted by an additional fic (SS/HG, marriage law) which I'm thinking about posting after this fic is done.

His hands explored further down her body. One traced feather-light across her chest and played with one of her nipples before grasping the entire breast in the warmth of his palm, while the other slipped lower, trailing fingernails down her spine and between her legs, to play with the wetness it found there. A finger slipped inside her. 

“Fuck, Sev,” she breathed out against his lips, before retaking them with her own. His laugh rolled out beneath her, the vibrations of his baritone voice making her shiver as he pulled her closer with the hand still outside her. She could feel his bare skin warm against the length of her body, and pressed against an entirely different sort of length of his, and--

The sound of her alarm startled Hermione awake. 

She waved a hand to shut it up and rolled over in bed, clutching her pillow against her. She could still remember the feeling of warmth against her skin and inside of her, and all she knew for certain was that she was absolutely mortified. Sure, everyone had a crush on a teacher, but she had never, in all of her crushes, had a dream… like that… about them. Yes, sex dreams had happened before. But always with indistinct men (or sometimes women) that didn’t correspond to anyone in her life, or corresponded with someone in looks but not in personality. 

Hermione was suddenly very glad of Severus’ dislike of peering into her mind. Could he have found some indication of her crush there? Oh, god, did he know? 

She would never be able to face him if he figured it out. She’d probably end up tossing herself off a parapet. 

Terrified, Hermione went over his recent behavior to her. He’d willingly picked her up to help her back to the infirmary, which probably would not have happened had she given him any indication when he was reading her mind--or when she was delirious. Shit. Had she said something while she was delirious? She couldn’t remember. She just knew, vaguely, that he had arrived in time to help finish Rabastan off, and it was only after the Dark Wizard’s death that her adrenaline had faded and the shock and pain had taken over. 

Fuck. She’d definitely said something stupid while high on pain. He was probably just being nice and ignoring it, and at some point it’d come up again and then she’d just die of shame on the spot. It was fine. Everything was fine. 

She started the shower freezing cold, but the goosebumps it produced just reminded her of an entirely different sort of goosebumps, neither of which were helpful. So she turned the water scorching hot and just dealt with everything in her best imitation of someone who wasn’t helplessly enamored with the school’s actual grouchiest professor. 

After she was done with her shower, she headed to breakfast. 

Ginny slid right next to her almost instantly. “Hermoine,” she whispered with that terrifying twinkle in her eye. “You have to tell me _everything!” _

Hermione blinked at her. “About?” 

“Everything!” Ginny repeated. “I haven’t seen you since you got out of the infirmary last night! Snape said that you had pretty much single-handedly defeated the necromancer behind that entire army, and that his assistance was just a formality, and that you were so cunning about how you did it, and that you must’ve brewed a fire resistance potion without his knowledge! And then what happened when he brought you back to the infirmary? I saw him pick you up!”

“Oh my god, Ginny.” Hermione covered her face with her hands, ignoring the burning of her cheeks and ears. “He hauled my sorry ass to the infirmary and then Madam Pomfrey smothered me alive. I haven’t seen him--” well, except in very embarrassing and awful and inappropriate dreams, and Ginny was certainly not about to hear about those “--since then, and he probably hates me for being useless and delirious. Because I probably said some stupid shit when he was rescuing my dumb ass from the Forest.” 

Ginny rolled her eyes. “Hermione, are we talking about the same person here? Are you kidding? He is absolutely smitten. Did you see how quickly he stopped being terrifying when you walked in? He just went from full vampire to the sweetest man in the world! Around everyone else he’s a normal grouch, except maybe a little nicer, but then you walk in and he turns into an absolute puppy.” 

Did he? No. There was no way. “Ginny, you’re reading too far in to things.” 

“No, you’re just oblivious,” Ginny retorted. “Even McGonagall noticed. You should’ve seen the looks she was shooting my way while you and Snape were there--she kept winking and smiling and even rolled her eyes a couple times when he loomed extra scarily to emphasize your points.”

“Amusing an image as Sev looming behind me might be, I don’t think it’s what you think it is. He’s probably just… passively looming. Not, you know, actively.” That would be cute, though. And something he’d do, if it were anyone but her he was doing it to. 

“Sev? Hermione, I love you deeply, but you are so dense.” 

“I’m not! I’m just not irrational.” Close. She nearly said ‘irrationally hopeful.’ 

Ginny rolled her eyes, and seemed about to continue, but thankfully Harry arrived, which distracted her enough to drop the subject. 

Hermione ate quietly, noticing that Harry seemed withdrawn. He was giving Ginny just monosyllabic responses, and after breakfast, she pulled him aside and into a quick hug. 

He sniffled into her shoulder. “Was it that obvious?”

“Probably not to most people, but I happen to know you.” She released him to look closer at his face. Now that she was able to examine him, she noticed the puffiness of his eyes. “Harry, I love you, okay? I’m here for you. If you’re not ready to talk it’s alright, but I’d love to listen.” 

He drew a very deep breath. “I love you too, Hermione. I… I know I’m gonna need to talk about it, but I’m not sure I’m ready to fully face it yet.” 

She squeezed his hands. “Take your time. I’ll still be here.” 

“I know.” He tipped his head forward, resting it on her shoulder again. “God, I don’t know how Ginny’s going to take it.” 

_That bad, huh?_ “We’ll cross that bridge when we get there. Come on, I’ve got to hobble over to the tower to grab my books, and then we can head to class together.” __

_ _“Okay.” _ _

_ _***_ _

_ _The next few weeks passed in a blur. Hermione and Harry were both scheduled to take their N.E.W.T.s at the same time, and their shared studying time let Hermione keep a close eye on how he was feeling. He was stressed, that much was clear. At least the tests seemed to distract him from whatever was bothering him. _ _

_ _For the week of the N.E.W.T.s, McGonagall had created a special room that they would test in, overseen by the Auror sent to perform the exams. Thankfully, the Auror introduced herself quite kindly and both of them agreed that she was one of the decent ones. _ _

_ _Hermione was taking a total of ten: Potions, DADA, Arithmancy, Astrology, Charms, Herbology, Transfiguration, Ancient Runes, Magical Theory, and Magical Beasts. Harry was slightly less insane, going for a more reasonable seven: DADA, Potions, Astrology, Charms, Herbology, Transfiguration, and Magical Beasts. _ _

_ _DADA and Potions were the two that required practicums in addition to written tests, and while DADA was mostly waived, they had to do the Potions practicum in full (despite Severus’ ranting about “Polyjuice in second year, in a _bloody lavatory!”_). Instead of a full DADA practicum, they were simply required to duel Professor Flitwick, who--being a famous champion dueller--was more than happy to have a new challenge. _ _

_ _After the week was up, Hermione was about to collapse on her bed when there was a knock on her door. She groaned and rolled over, checking who it was with her wards. Harry. She flicked the door open with magic. _ _

_ _“Hey,” he said. He was not in pajamas. He was in muggle street clothes. “Are you… up for a talk?”_ _

_ _“Harry, I love you but I’m bloody exhausted.”_ _

_ _He began to withdraw. “It’s okay, I’m--”_ _

_ _“Shut up. I’m just saying I’ll hassle you about this forever. I’ll be a minute, grab me coffee.”_ _

_ _A relieved smile broke across his face. “Okay. Uh… wear muggle clothes.” _ _

_ _“You are so lucky I love you.” _ _

_ _“Love you too!” he called as she shut the door again, and rolled out of bed. _ _

_ _In five minutes, she was hurrying down the stairs to the common room, braiding her hair. “Okay,” she said, twisting a tie around the end and pulling on a leather jacket. “Let’s go.” _ _

_ _He stood up and wordlessly lead her through the silent hallways towards the entrance of the school. As they pushed open the doors to the courtyard, someone cleared their throat. _ _

_ _Hermione jumped and whirled, and there were suddenly two wands pointing at Severus Snape. She sighed, and put her wand down. “Jeez, Sev, you scared me.” _ _

_ _“Sorry, Professor,” Harry said, putting his wand up his sleeve. _ _

_ _One imperious brow raised. “And where are you two headed?” _ _

_ _Harry hesitated, so Hermione went for it. _ _

_ _“We’re exhausted and need a little time to just unwind after the week of testing,” she said. “Harry’s also got some recent… personal news that he’s been stressed about, and we just wanted to go somewhere that…”_ _

_ _“Somewhere that I wouldn’t be recognized,” Harry finished. _ _

_ _It was honestly the truth. _ _

_ _Severus didn’t react, and for a moment Hermione wondered if she’d lost whatever strange hold she had on the man. Then he glanced over his shoulder. _ _

_ _“Be careful, and be back before the patrol switch at two. I can cover for you until then.” _ _

_ _Harry’s face lit up with relief, and Hermione flung herself forward to hug Severus. She squeezed him tight as he made a brief noise of panic. He was awful cuddly for such a menacing figure. All the cloaks and robes added some padding that insulated the heat from his body, but Hermione found him surprisingly comfortable. _ _

_ _“Thanks, Sev. We’ll be careful, don’t worry.” _ _

_ _He just nodded as she pried herself from him, then turned and walked off. _ _

_ _Harry slipped out the door, followed closely by Hermione. Once they were outside, Harry turned to her with saucer-plate eyes. _ _

_ _“Holy shit, Hermione,” he said. “You do realize that we just managed what we’ve been unable to manage for the past _eight fucking years?” __ _

_ _“Sneak past Sev? I mean, we _still_ didn’t succeed.” She laughed quietly, and he joined her. _ _

_ _“Yeah, he just lets you do literally whatever you want. For some reason, which someone won’t admit.” He poked her firmly in the ribs. _ _

_ _She rolled her eyes. “Shut up. I’m not getting my hopes up.” _ _

_ _“Oh, so there are hopes?” He grinned. _ _

_ _“God, I don’t even know.” Hermione sighed, stuffing her hands in her pockets. “Let’s save that talk until after we exit the grounds, because I’m pretty sure that he can hear literally everything on this campus.” _ _

_ _Harry snorted, and as they stepped outside of the bound of Hogwarts, grabbed her for them to side-along Apparate. _ _

_ _Hermione found herself in an alleyway in what looked like muggle London. As they stepped out of the alleyway, she realized they were in a nightlife district. Harry lead the way to what was clearly a gay bar. They left their jackets at the door. Harry gave a nod to the person checking them in, and they were given a disposable wristband each--purple, Hermione noticed, as opposed to the rest of the patrons’ red. Harry continued to lead the way up to the second floor. _ _

_ _While the lower floor was a dance floor, the second floor was a balcony around the dance floor which was somehow considerably well-insulated from the sound of the music. _ _

_ _“You go grab a table, I’ll get drinks.” _ _

_ _Hermione nodded, picking a tall booth at the very corner of the room, right by an emergency exit. As she looked around, she noticed a few other patrons with the purple wristbands. She couldn’t tell any distinction between purple and red, but the purple wristbands were all clustered together. That was, until she recognized a student who had graduated a few years ago. _ _

_ _Oh. So all the purple wristbands were secret signs for wizards. The reds must be muggles. _ _

_ _Harry arrived not long after, sliding her a Long Island Iced Tea. He waved his hand and cast a muffliato around them, following it up with a charm to detect if anyone was listening in. _ _

_ _“Purple wristbands are wizards?” she said. _ _

_ _He nodded. “The place is run by a witch and her squib relatives. There’s an unspoken code of silence about the wizards that visit the place. Everybody here just wants to have a good time. It’s a really nice set-up.”_ _

_ _“How’d you find out about this place?” Hermione asked, taking a sip. _ _

_ _“Over the summer, when we were being hounded by the media, I got a bunch of fliers. This place I kept because it was just a little note, saying that they ran a place that allowed peace and anonymity.” He took a swig of his drink. “It was so unlike the rest, which were all capitalizing on my fame and visibility, that I remembered it. I checked it out earlier this year.” _ _

_ _“Brilliant. I like it.” _ _

_ _He smiled. “I thought you would.” _ _

_ _Hermione glanced around, and noticed another group of wizards. One caught her eye and lifted their glass just a little, then turned back to their friends and continued to converse. _ _

_ _“The drinks are good, too,” Harry said with a chuckle. _ _

_ _“That is essential, obviously.” She grinned at him, taking a sip. “Now, what’s up?” _ _

_ _He sighed. “Give me a little bit to let the alcohol hit. I might need liquid courage to talk about this one.” _ _

_ _“Just as long as you’re not in love with me, we’re fine.” _ _

_ _Harry’s laugh relieved her. “God, no.” _ _

_ _“Thank fuck.”_ _

_ _“I know, right?” He grinned, and took another drink. “Tell me about ‘Sev’-” she could hear the quotes “-while I work up the nerve.” _ _

_ _“Harry James Potter, if this is a trap to get me to talk--”_ _

_ _He laughed again, and she joined him. “Am I that conniving?”_ _

_ _“No, although sometimes I think you could use a little more subtlety.” She stirred the Long Island with the colorful bendy straw provided, thinking. “I mean, I don’t even know what to say.” _ _

_ _“I mean, do you like him?”_ _

_ _“Obviously.” She rolled her eyes. “I mean, okay. I definitely have a crush, alright? But I can’t tell if it’s any more than that.”_ _

_ _“Full offense, but you’ve been pre_eee_etty starry-eyed.” _ _

_ _Hermione lightly socked him in the shoulder, which just made him laugh. “Boy Who Is So Lucky I Love Him,” she muttered, which got another laugh. “Ugh. It’s more than I’ve felt before, okay? I mean Viktor was nice, but I didn’t feel like it could last, and Ron… I love Ron, honest to goodness still do, but that was a mistake. Clearly.” _ _

_ _“Ugh, Ron,” Harry sighed, leaning against the wall. “Do you miss him, sometimes? I do. Not how he is now, but how he was… you know, before.”_ _

_ _“Yeah,” Hermione admitted, slumping forward a little against the wooden table. It had that slight tacky feeling that all nightclub tabletops did. “I miss him when we’re hanging out, like this. But I don’t miss the way he treated me, especially towards the end.” She grew quieter. “Or how his mom treated me. Arthur was always very nice, but…” _ _

_ _“Whenever Molly thought we were together, she ignored you,” Harry finished. “It killed me. What an absolute bitch.” _ _

_ _“Ugh, I know. And she was so awful to Fleur, too, just because Fleur was pretty. I mean I didn’t like Fleur at first because I found her stuck-up, but I mean, you can’t blame someone for being pretty.” She sighed. “But yeah. I miss Ron. I wish that things… didn’t go so poorly between us.”_ _

_ _Harry nodded. “It sucks. But that’s on him, not you.” _ _

_ _With a sigh, Hermione used her tongue to catch the straw of her drink and took another sip. “Anyway, given that those two are the extent of my emotional expertise, it’s kind of difficult for me to judge. Especially given everything else that’s gone on. I don’t think the crush is a rebound, it’s like… I knew Ron was wrong for me for a long time, and I was over him a while ago.” _ _

_ _“That honestly doesn’t surprise me. It was what I kind of guessed, actually.” _ _

_ _Hermione nodded. “You remember what he saw in the Mirror of Erised?”_ _

_ _“It was him, wasn’t it? Separate and above his brothers.” _ _

_ _“Yeah. I… wasn’t there.” Hermione sighed, trying to ignore how much the idea made her want to cry, even now. “And he was in mine. I mean… maybe it was a matter of maturity, but…” _ _

_ _“I could never picture you in a happy relationship with someone who wasn’t your equal in both independence and devotion, honestly.” _ _

_ _It was like he’d finished her sentence. She nodded emphatically. “Exactly. And I knew that if I wasn’t a priority for him, we wouldn’t work out in the long run.” _ _

_ _“You deserve to be a priority, Hermione. I hope you know that.” _ _

_ _She reached over and squeezed his hand. “Thanks.” _ _

_ _“If Ron’s not going to do that, it’s his own mistake. But anyway, back to Severus.” _ _

_ _She chewed at the straw, a decent substitute for her lip. “I’ve never had a crush on someone like Sev. Snape? Fuck, I don’t know what to call him. ‘Sev’ was mostly an accident, it just slipped out and he didn’t hex me on the spot, so I just kind of rolled with it after what McGonagall said.” She rubbed at her temples, and sipped more alcoholic tea. “I mean obviously he’s not interested, and obviously he’s way out of my league, but it’s just--”_ _

_ _“Okay, disagree on those two points, but continue.” _ _

_ _“...Is everyone going to contest me on the fact that he probably does not have feelings for the twenty-one-year-old insufferable know-it-all chit that made him live through hell?” Hermione rolled her eyes. “I mean, the man has taste, okay? Anyway. I just haven’t…” She trailed off, suddenly very bashful. “I just haven’t met someone as smart as him before. And he’s nice to talk to.” _ _

_ _“I mean, if anyone can keep up with your brain, it’s him.” Harry shrugged. “It makes sense.” _ _

_ _“...Does it?”_ _

_ _He glanced up at her, as if ready to give a snarky retort, but noticed the question was honest. “Yes. Like I said, equal.” _ _

_ _“I hope he sees me that way, too,” she murmured. “Like, fuck whatever romantic feelings I have, I just hope that I’ve proven myself worthy.” _ _

_ _Harry rolled his eyes as he took another drink. “Dumbass. He needs to prove himself worthy to you, especially after all the shit he put us through.” _ _

_ _“...Okay, that’s fair. He’s doing a good job of it, though.” _ _

_ _“Oh, I agree. Did I hear him right when you two were whispering? Was he going to get Neville a toad?” Harry laughed._ _

_ _Unable to suppress a satisfied smile, Hermione nodded. “Or something along those lines, I think. I did tell him that the toad did not work out well.” _ _

_ _Harry snorted. “Unfortunate, given that the toad was probably the only decent thing Algie ever did for him.”_ _

_ _Gaze darkening, Hermione glared through the table, wrapping her hands a little tighter around the glass. “Eugh, if I could I’d poison that man.”_ _

_ _“Let me help.” _ _

_ _“With pleasure. We’ll start a mob.”_ _

_ _They faded into silence for a little bit, and Hermione was content to drink her alcohol and watch the goings-on of the dance floor. _ _

_ _After a few more sips of alcohol, Harry straightened up. She smiled at him encouragingly, but didn’t let her gaze linger for too long, not wanting him to feel pressured. She was in the middle of being very fascinated with the DJ’s setup when Harry drew a deep breath. _ _

_ _“I think. That. I’m.” _ _

_ _He sighed, then inhaled again. _ _

_ _“B… i…” Pause. “Sexual.” _ _

_ _Hermione took a sip of her drink. “Bisexual? Nice. Me too.” _ _

_ _“Really?” His eyes were big and scared. _ _

_ _She nodded. “I mean, I guess I might be more pansexual? I don’t know, I haven’t thought about it a lot recently, given the whole war.” _ _

_ _Harry let out a huge pent-up breath, collapsing forward onto the table. “Oh, thank fuck. I thought you were going to say I was crazy or something or try and convince me otherwise.” _ _

_ _Ah. Put it to the Dursleys and the conservative wizarding world to fuck up Harry’s self-image. “My parents were very accepting,” she explained, turning to face him again. “They were always willing to talk to me about that sort of stuff and listen to me, too. My dad’s brother was gay and he was always my favorite uncle, so that helped too.” She beamed a little. “He’s the one who introduced me to my first cat.” _ _

_ _To her great relief, Harry’s smile was growing once again. “That’s… incredible,” he breathed. _ _

_ _“It was very good. I’m sorry you didn’t have the same support system.” _ _

_ _Harry shrugged. “You know how it is.” With a sigh, he swirled his drink, watching absently as the ice cubes clattered around. “I… didn’t even think about it until a couple weeks ago, really. You remember when McGonagall had me escort Kingsley out?” _ _

_ _Hermione nodded. _ _

_ _“It was then. Kingsley mentioned that he had a boyfriend and something just clicked. It was like… suddenly I realized that this was something that was possible and that I was maybe even allowed to be.” With a sigh, he let his glass clatter back to an upright position. “And then everything started to make sense and I realized that those feelings towards Draco were definitely not just hatred.”_ _

_ _“Draco?!” Hermione laughed. “Oh, Harry, I always used to joke about that to myself. I could never tell you ‘cause the one time I did you looked confused and Ron started spouting some shit that, in hindsight, was super homophobic, but it makes so much sense.” _ _

_ _Harry rolled his eyes. “Fuck, I knew you’d tease me about this.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Look, let me make one thing abundantly clear. I love Ginny. I might even be in love with her. Draco was just attraction, he was always insufferable. I mean I guess now he’s less insufferable. But my point is, that I love Ginny, and I was completely serious when I said I wanted her to be with me for the rest of my life.” _ _

_ _Hermione reached across the table and squeezed his hand. “I know, Harry. Just because you’re realizing things about yourself doesn’t mean you don’t care less about the people you knew beforehand.” _ _

_ _“Yes. Exactly. Thank you.” He slumped against the wall and table, kicking his feet up on the rest of the booth. “I’m just so, so worried about how she’ll respond.” _ _

_ _Hermione nodded, but remained silent, waiting for him to continue. _ _

_ _“I mean, after seeing how Ron was with you…” He sighed and shut his eyes, scratching at the infamous lightning-bolt scar. “I realized just how very traditional the Weasleys are. Sure, they’re accepting of muggle stuff, and they’re not blood purists, but they’re still a long way behind, say, your family. Or even the Dursleys, to a degree.” _ _

_ _Leaning forward, Hermione propped an elbow up and rested her chin on her palm. “Gay wizards have existed before and had great renown, Harry. Like Dumbledore. They loved Dumbledore, even if he was an asshole, and they’d probably still accept you.” _ _

_ _“I know,” he sighed. “I just… I have this horrible feeling that Ginny isn’t going to get it, that she’s not going to understand that you can like both, and that it doesn’t… you know, that it’s not weird. Or that it won’t change the way she looks at me.” _ _

_ _He flopped his hand onto the table, palm up, and she took it as an invitation to put her own hand in it and squeeze. _ _

_ _“You know I’ll always be there for you. I have faith in Ginny, but I might be wrong. Do you plan on telling her?”_ _

_ _Harry nodded. “I don’t want to live a lie again. If I’m going forward, I’m going to be honestly me, no matter what.” _ _

_ _“And I’ll be right there with you.” _ _

_ _“You’re the best sister.” _ _

_ _She chuckled. “And you’re the best brother. Now, do you have a specific plan, or…?”_ _

_ _“God, do I ever have a plan?” _ _

_ _Laughing, Hermione shrugged. “Okay, that’s very fair. A girl can hope though.” _ _

_ _“Asshole. Honestly my only plan was tell you and then talk until you basically gave me a plan.” _ _

_ _Hermione rolled her eyes._ _

_ _“I’m a _lucky_ asshole with a _great_ sister whom I love _very_ much.” _ _

_ _“Oh my god, Harry. Okay. Well, I can tell you right now that Luna’s not gonna give a shit, and neither is Neville. Would you want to tell them first, before Ginny, so that you have a support network?” She tapped her fingers along her cheek as she thought. “If she’s going to be supportive, she might be hurt, but would understand your fear. If she’s not supportive, she’d… well, she’d react poorly either way.” _ _

_ _Harry sighed, flopping their still-clasped hands around on the table. “I might tell them,” he said, after a long minute. “I think it would help me if… I knew that there were people ready to support me, should everything go wrong.” _ _

_ _Hermione nodded. “Okay. I think the timeline is best left up to you, I don’t feel comfortable deciding that for you.” _ _

_ _Nodding, Harry took a deep breath. “I’ll ask them to meet us tomorrow, then. I want to get this over with.” _ _

_ _Once more, she squeezed his hand. “Alright. Then you have a plan.” She paused. “And if Molly goes to fucking Rita Skeeter, I will murder one of them and it’ll be a coin toss which one.” _ _

_ _Harry groaned. “Don’t remind me about that bitch.”_ _


	19. Chapter 19

It turned out that Ginny did _not_ take it well. 

As she rushed out of the room, shrieking and tear-streaked, Hermione sprinted to Harry, grabbing him in a hug before his first tears could even hit the ground. She held him as he sobbed for a long time, massaging his scalp and whispering calming noises that seemed to do very little. 

After what must’ve been twenty minutes, a tentative knock on the door heralded Neville, who brought with him a very wide-eyed and worried Luna, each of them with a whole stack of tissue boxes. 

“I grabbed every tissue box I could find,” Neville said. 

Harry managed a laugh through his tears. “Thanks,” he mumbled, as Hermione gratefully swapped out the empty box for a new one. 

“I’ll go talk to the Headmistress,” Luna said. “I bet we can get dinner in your rooms tonight, Harry.” She squeezed him in a brief hug, then left. 

Hermione called a “thank you!” after her, silently glad for the pure, sweet heart of Luna. 

Neville sat down on the table across from Harry’s couch, looking almost as defeated as when they found out Harry was dead. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Is there anything else I can do?”

Harry shook his head. “It’s okay. Thanks, Neville.” 

“Can’t believe both the Weasleys turned out to be gits,” he muttered as he stood up and left. “Let me know if you need anything.” 

They ended up watching a muggle movie on the enchanted TV that Harry had smuggled in. Luna showed up with dinner for both of them and, entranced by the moving images, decided to stay. 

She left just before curfew, and Hermione decided to just sleep over on Harry’s couch. 

Come morning, Hermione was awakened by the form of a glowing silvery-blue raven perched on the edge of the sofa. The patronus tilted its head to look at her when she sat up with a gasp. 

Harry awoke at that point as well, staring down the patronus. “Who the fuck…” 

The beak opened and out came the familiar baritone of Severus. “The ginger ones are both at breakfast now, so your exit is clear. Minerva has instructed the elves give you breakfast in the kitchen should you so desire.” 

“Thank you.” Hermione burst out laughing as the raven took off, flying through the window to destinations unknown. “Ginger ones!” 

Harry managed a smile. “No longer a doe, huh?” 

“So it appears.” She smiled to where the raven had gone. “Damn, he’s been unusually thoughtful lately.” 

“Even if he’s not in love with you yet,” Harry jerked his head towards the exit path of the raven, “He’s _clearly_ smitten.” 

She rolled her eyes. “If you insist. I’m going to go change, then I’ll meet you in the common room.” 

Harry snorted. “Let me put it this way: he isn’t being this accommodating for me.” 

Ignoring his extremely good point, Hermione left the room, and changed quickly. 

It was a Monday, but they didn’t have classes. Part of the bonus for graduating early, Hermione supposed. With that in mind, she pulled on some weekend clothes. Black dyed jeans, brown boots, and a maroon blouse, all of which weren’t uniform but were nice enough to be within dress code. She pulled on a little black shrug sweater on top of it, just in case, then yanked her brush through her hair enough times to make the curls settle down into smooth chestnut waves. 

Maybe she was putting a little more effort into her appearance. That wasn’t necessarily because she had a crush (although it definitely was) and it also wasn’t a crime. 

She hurried down to meet with Harry, who had put considerably less effort into his appearance. He offered a shadow of his old smile and a wink at her. 

“Go get ‘em, tiger.” 

“Shut up, Harry,” she laughed as she opened the door and they nearly ran into Draco. 

Speak of the devil. Hermione arched a brow at him. “Malfoy. How’re you doing?” 

Draco shifted uneasily. “I… I’m alright. Is Potter there?”

“Hang on.” Hermione glanced back into the room, arching a brow at Harry, giving him the option to duck out. 

To her slight surprise, Harry stepped through the opening to stand next to her. “Yeah, I’m here. What’s up?” 

Draco cast a glance down each way in the corridor. His frame was still entirely too thin, and Hermione realized how limply his clothes hung on him. His eyes had bags beneath them. She exchanged a look of concern with Harry. 

“The Weasleys are telling everyone,” he said, finally. “Well, Ron, mostly. And he’s not using… polite words, either. McGonagall’s in a state defending her golden child, and I think my godfather’s about to kill somebody.” He shrugged a little, twisting his ankle to fiddle with the magical cuff that marked him as an offender, like a muggle ankle monitor. “They’re punished, and Longbottom’s challenging everyone for your honor, but just… watch your back, yeah?” He paused, and licked his lips. 

“I… I will.” Harry swallowed. “Thanks, Draco.”

Draco’s eyes shuttered closed for a moment, and he drew a deep breath. “Yeah. Don’t worry about it.” 

“Want to come eat with us?” Harry offered. 

Hermione felt a small warmth in her chest. Draco’s eyes flew open and he glanced between them, as if waiting for it to be a trick. 

“McGonagall set aside food for us in the kitchens,” she explained, trying to figure out how to give him a way to accept their invitation. Draco was a Slytherin, he wouldn’t be able to accept unless they could let him claim that it was beneficial to him. “Way less shouting and honor-defending, I bet.” 

She could practically see the light go off over Harry’s head as he realized what Hermione was doing. 

“Yeah,” Harry seconded. “Besides, I bet the food’s fresher, too.” 

Draco hesitated, but then he nodded. “I guess,” he said, looking fairly nervous about it. 

Harry took up the lead with Draco at his side, and Hermione hung back, using her position to wonder at what the hell had happened to the swaggering and braggadocious Draco from before the war. _Azkaban,_ she knew immediately. _Azkaban, not just for him, but also for his entire family, and the shame of being forced into a cult of blood purists. _

It seemed to go deeper than that, though. 

Once they were in the kitchens, Hermione made a big show of not being that hungry, in order to foist more food on Draco and Harry. Harry ate like he normally did--which was way better than what she could’ve hoped for, given that he normally stopped being hungry when he was sad. 

Draco basically devoured whatever she put in front of him. She ended up excusing herself to thank the elves for all their hard work and request an extra pile of pancakes, which they were absolutely ecstatic to give. 

As Draco demolished the stack, Hermione met Harry’s eyes. She could see the same question in him as she had herself: had Draco been eating at all? 

Their conversation eventually drifted towards the reason for Harry’s current predicament. 

“I just never realized it before,” he said, munching on some berries. “I told Ginny I loved her and I wanted to be with her and it was just a part of me I didn’t know… but she wasn’t hearing it.” 

“My parents were pretty much the same way when I told them I was gay--” Draco said it thoughtlessly, then seemed to realize it and nearly chocked on his pancake. Well, pancakes, plural. Hermione wouldn’t be surprised if he had six of them in his mouth. 

“Oh?” Hermione said, just as casual as before. “I guess everyone at this table isn’t straight, then? I’m honestly really glad, I thought I was the only one at Hogwarts.”

Draco blinked at her. “Granger, you’re gay too?” he said around a mouthful of pancakes, and Hermione didn’t have the heart to admonish him for it. The genuine hope in his eyes was too much to crush.

“Pansexual,” she replied. “Or bi. Haven’t exactly figured it out yet. Much like Harry.” 

“Oh,” he said, then took the time to swallow. She was scared he’d make a run for the door, but instead he just sat there thoughtfully for a bit. 

“Yeah, I knew for a while but never made it public because, uh.” She jerked her head towards the Great Hall. 

“Does my godfather know?”

“Who, Sev?”

“Y--” Draco’s jaw dropped. “He lets you call him SEV?”

“I fucking told you,” Harry hissed. 

Hermione shrugged. “Yeah.” 

“Fucking hell, Granger, when my dad tried to call him Sev--” Draco gestured emphatically, as if unable to find the words. “Dad lost _all_ of his hair,” he finally managed. “And you know how Malfoys are about their _hair.”_

Harry snickered, snorted, and fell into a coughing fit. “Sorry, sorry, sorry,” he said, looking very guilty. “I just. That’s a really great image.” 

“That is a really great image,” Hermione seconded. “Sorry.” 

“No, it’s literally one of my favorite memories. I’ll give you guys a copy for the pensieve if you want.” 

“That would--” Harry wheezed a laugh “--be fucking incredible, Draco.” 

Draco grinned at them, and for the first time all day, it didn’t look fake. “The more the merrier.” And then he paused, and the smile fell. “Maybe I can start making up for being such a little bitch all these years.” 

Harry shook his head. “Draco. You don’t have to apologize, okay?” He reached across the table, taking Draco’s hand in his, and realizing a moment too late the closeness of the gesture. Draco looked about to start screaming. “Look, I know it was probably really stressful dealing with your parents, and yeah you were awful to us, but I’d like to think that we’ve all grown up a little and fuck knows I’m happy enough to put shit behind me.” He released Draco’s hand, rather awkwardly. 

Draco was bright red. 

Hermione, up until then silent to let the two of them hash out their beef, spoke up. “Draco, I saw you when we thought Harry was dead. You wouldn’t cross to their side even though your parents were calling you. I know how much courage that must’ve taken. I knew then that all of our petty kiddie squabbles were over, because you understood, and trust me when I say that both Harry and I forgave you a long time ago.”

Harry nodded emphatically. 

Draco cleared his throat. “I--appreciate it,” he said, his voice breaking a little. “But I don’t know if I can forgive myself as easily. But… I’d like to try to make it up to you both, if that’s okay.” 

“No pressure, honestly,” Harry said. “But hey, if you want to start?” Harry leaned in as Draco eagerly awaited orders. 

“Help me finish this pile of pancakes,” Harry whispered. 

It was a moment before Draco registered what was said, and rolled his eyes as he leaned back in his chair, trying his best to look exasperated. “Potter, you’re awful at this emotional manipulation thing,” he groaned, as he shoveled a few more pancakes onto his plate. “You’re supposed to be an _asshole,_ not tell people to eat breakfast like a _worried mother!”_

***

Since they didn’t have classes anymore and technically were not yet apprentices--or, rather, apprentice and whatever-the-fuck-Harry-was-doing--the two of them had the day off.

Hermione grabbed some raw meat from the kitchens, and after they walked Draco to his first class (Potions, and Severus did not miss the fact that Draco was burping and also smiling), they went out to feed the thestrals. 

Harry crouched down with a foal, feeding it little snippets of raw meat while Hermione fed its mother. “So the other thing that Kingsley mentioned, besides making me have a life crisis about my sexual orientation, is that he actually wanted us to take the upcoming Ministry ball to take shots at the ineptitude of the Ministry. Even if it included him.” 

“Really? Damn.” Hermione moved to gently stroke the mare’s neck, which she snorted appreciatively at. 

“Yeah.” He reached over to grab another tidbit, tossing this one in the air. The foal snatched it easily. “We’re each--you, me, Neville--going to get a chance to give a speech. So I was thinking that we should plan out what we wanted to do.” 

Hermione nodded, focusing on keeping her fingers out of the thestral’s sharp beak. “What are you thinking for yours?”

“I wanted to go with a theme of inter-House cooperation,” he said. “And I mean, more generally, cooperation between pureblooded and non-pureblooded wizards.” 

“So what you’re saying is that it’d be best if you took Draco as your date.” 

Harry was silent for a moment. 

“Fuck,” he said. “That… that would communicate it really well, huh?”

Hermione nodded, grinning at him. “Yep.” 

Having run out of meat, they said their farewells to the thestrals, scourgified their hands, and walked towards Hogsmeade.

“Shit, I can’t believe I set myself up for that one,” Harry said with a sigh, kicking rocks out of the path as they walked. 

“What, you don’t want to?”

“No, no,” he replied hurriedly. “Look, New Draco? I like him. It could definitely work. Definitely the ball, maybe other things. It will not earn me points at all with Ginny. And I… I really don’t want to hurt her.” 

Hermione glanced at him. He was crestfallen. Clearly hurting still, even if their morning had been fun. “I know,” she said. “It’s fucking rough.” 

“I suppose I could try and tell her.” 

“Mm.” Hermione glanced around at the snowy surroundings. Even if it was early October, Hogsmeade was always snowy. “I don’t think that’d go well, but if it’s important to you, it’s worth a try.” 

Harry sighed. “God, I don’t know anymore. I think… I think I’ll at least write her a note. Kingsley said the ball would be, what, in two weeks? I have time to let her cool down before I make everything awful again.” He winced a little. “Also before I ask Draco to a fucking dance, holy shit.” 

Hermione snorted. “Yeah, who would’ve ever thought.” 

Harry muttered something suspiciously like ‘me.’ She laughed at him, and he just flushed redder. 

“I think for my message I’ll go with ‘Ministry ineptitude’ and ‘stop making us act as child soldiers.’” She paused while he snorted. “I think…” Hermione bit her lip, and pulled up her sleeve. “I think I want to show them this.” 

The word, MUDBLOOD, forever carved into her skin. 

Harry stopped in his tracks. “Are you certain?”

To her surprise, she was. “Scars are what started this fight for your life. But now there are others with scars, and I want them to realize that children with scars are not things to be worshipped. They are a sign of a great evil.” 

“You’re brilliant, Hermione.” Harry threw her in a hug. “I have the perfect idea,” he said. “You up for visiting Diagon?”

“Sure.”

They made it to Hogsmeade and then floo’d to Diagon, where Harry pulled out his wallet. Hermione had given it to him as a present for surviving the war, but also mainly for storing all of the promotional offers he kept getting. It was charmed, just like her beaded bag. He’d absolutely refused to throw any of them out--growing up poor had imbued him with the need to hoard coupons. As they walked, he rifled around in what looked like several filing cabinets worth of stuff. 

“Aha!” he said, finally, pulling out a letter with a voucher attached and holding it out to Hermione. 

_DEAR ESTEEMED MR. POTTER, _

_My name is Esthel Erglemay and I am writing to you on behalf of myself and my sister Emily. We have recently founded a store called THE WITCH OF TODAY, which specializes in dress robes and gowns for formal occasions which integrate muggle fashion sensibilities. My sister and I are both muggleborn and as such appreciate your commitment to equality in the wizarding world. As such, we would be happy to offer a large discount on any pieces you would like to be made for yourself or any acquaintance._

_Sincerely,   
ESTHEL & EMILY ERGLEMAY_

Hermione’s jaw dropped. “You realize that they’re not just giving you discounts on premade robes, right? They’re offering to make clothing for you.” 

“Exactly,” Harry said. “I’ve seen some people wear their stuff, and it’s really nice. I mean, that’s what Ginny said, anyway. Can you imagine what they’d do if they got a chance to dress you, the most famous muggleborn witch _ever?”_

Hermione rolled her eyes. “You’re exaggerating. But I see your point. It certainly doesn’t hurt that I’m now legally your sister.” 

He grinned. “Yes. And here we are!” 

Harry lead the way into the store. It was a cozy little boutique, and Hermione was immediately struck by the numerous gorgeous pieces on display. Dresses that looked sleek and modern, but whose fabric sparkled with images of stars over night clouds; a piece with gorgeous train, the inside of which was decorated like a nebula that spun and exuded stardust; a tuxedo with fine gold trim that was stitched in the form of a running river, with fish jumping in and out. 

There was a massive gasp as they came into view. 

The two ladies working the store--clearly the sisters, were staring at them with bug eyes, as was the lady they were dressing. 

“Oh! Oh my dearie me! Goodness! Emily, Emily--” The lady serving the other witch grasped her sister firmly. “Go check in with our esteemed guests while I finish up with Miss Privet! We must never leave a guest unsatisfied!” 

The sister that was apparently Emily hurried over. “It is an honor, Mr. Potter,” she said, shaking Harry’s hand. “And Miss Granger! Oh, you’ve given my sister and I so much hope. We’re muggleborn, see, and it’s so good to see that you’re really showing those blood purists that a witch’s merit isn’t in her blood.” She sighed, eyes sparkling with tears. “Sorry, excuse me, I know you must get these sorts of things everywhere. What can I do for you? Anything.” 

Harry grinned and gestured to Hermione. “Miss Granger has a special request.” 

Hermione smiled as demurely as she could while constraining her desire to smirk at the evil little plan that was forming in her head. They would see her scars--all of them. “Yes. You see, I’d like to make a _statement,_ and I believe that you and your sister are the _perfect_ people to help me.” 

***

Hermione and Harry were finally able to take their breakfast in the Great Hall after a week, and it was a lucky coincidence that their N.E.W.T.s came in that day. 

Golden envelopes sealed with red wax were deposited by two magnificent birds directly into their laps. The post didn’t typically come until the evening, so the focus of the room was suddenly on them. 

Hermione stared down Harry as all of the blood rushed out of her body and the world fell away from her. “Oh fuck,” she whispered. “I thought--I thought they’d take longer.” 

“I did too,” he breathed. “You think it’s cuz we’re the only ones?” 

“Fuck you’re probably right.” 

Hermione was distantly aware that people were shifting around them. Luna plopped into a seat on her side, and Neville slid beside Harry. Even Draco seemed to hover closer to the Gryffindor table, and Harry beckoned him over, patting the spot across the table. Hesitantly, Draco sat down, as if waiting for reprisal, but Luna just beamed at him. 

McGonagall was suddenly seated across from them, next to the very terrified Draco, looking very eager. 

“Well?” the Headmistress asked. 

“You go first,” Hermione told Harry. “I can’t. I need to… have some time.” 

Harry nodded. He broke the seal and pulled out the folded paper within. 

Hermione leaned over, eager, hugging him tight to her with one arm. She could see immediately the official seal of the Minister for Magic, alongside Kingsley’s signature. Holy shit. 

Hermione read down the list of Harry’s scores. DADA, Charms, Transfiguration, and Magical Beasts were all Outstandings; Potions, Astrology, and Herbology were all Exceeds Expectations. 

“Holy shit,” he whispered. “I’m going to be an Auror.”

“You’re going to be an Auror!” yelled Neville, and the Gryffindor table erupted into applause, the other tables following with degrees of enthusiasm. Hermione couldn’t see through her tears of happiness as she hugged Harry. 

“I’m so proud of you,” she whispered, and kissed him on the cheek. “Brother.” 

“Sister,” he said, so happy and authentic that she would’ve started crying if she wasn’t already. He smiled at her through tears of his own. “Okay. You ready for yours?”

“No.” 

“Want me to open it for you?”

Hermione hesitated, then nodded, handing it over to Harry. 

For the second time that morning, he broke the Ministry seal and pulled out the folded paper. As soon as he opened it Hermione snatched it back, too eager to see her results. 

The paper was thick and expensive between her fingers. And her results… She clapped a hand over her mouth, tearing up immediately. Happiness, sure, but mostly relief.

“Hermione fucking Granger,” Harry whispered. “You just got all Os on ten fucking N.E.W.T.s.”

“Thank fuck,” she whispered, through tears, aware how perilously silent the room was. 

McGonagall reached out and plucked the piece of paper from her hands. Her eyes glanced over the paper, and beside her, Draco let out a squeak of surprise and joy. A moment later, he scrambled from his seat and dashed off towards the door that lead to the dungeons, the echoes of his footsteps fading as McGonagall continued to look the paper over.

“Miss Granger,” McGonagall said, very serious and very loving, and her voice quite loud, “If I am not mistaken, that is a new record. No one in the history of Hogwarts has gotten as many Os as you have just received. You blew moldy old Tommy out of the fucking water. Ten Os, on ten N.E.W.T.s--” 

The rest of her words were cut off in a similarly raucous cheer from the students. 

Hermione felt like she was dissociating, in a different plane as she sat there hugging Harry and surrounded by the noise and filled with the deep relief that she hadn’t failed, and the growing realization that actually, she’d done pretty well. She might have a chance after all. 

Draco returned then, forcibly dragging a very bewildered looking Snape. He pointed towards Hermione and Harry, grinning like he had when they were little kids. He was saying something, but his words were lost in the chaos of the students. 

McGonagall looked over her shoulder, waggled the paper, and yelled, “Severus! Get over here, your apprentice just beat your ass on the N.E.W.T.s!” 

Severus laughed, the first time he’d done it in public, as the students let up another (even louder) cheer. He came over to the table, behind Hermione, looming over her shoulder as he studied the scores, then leaned over and hugged her. “I fucking told you so, Granger.” 

“I think I’m about to pass out,” she confided in him. 

“Wouldn’t surprise me.” He pointed to a line in Kingsley’s letter, glancing at her with a gentle grin that, instead of vanishing after a moment, stuck firmly. “Look. He said you didn’t miss a single question on the Potions section.”

Hermione buried her face in his shoulder. “I’m about to pass out.” 

As it turned out, she did not. 

Instead, she and Harry were cheered for another solid ten minutes until McGonagall managed to calm them down, citing that Argus would get a headache. Some Ravenclaw shouted, “Let him!” and another cheer followed, but it devolved into laughs as McGonagall rolled her eyes bemusedly. 

“I don’t think they were cheering exactly for us,” Hermione confided in Harry as they helped the house elves clean up, after everyone had left for classes. “I think they were cheering because they needed something happy after the end of the war, and we represent that.” 

Harry shrugged. “You’re probably right, but I don’t think I mind either way. Everyone had a good time and that’s what mattered. I mean, hell, did you see? Both grouchy Slytherins smiled.” 

She laughed at that, and continued laughing as she brought a stack of plates to the kitchen.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #BallisLyfe

“Are you planning on attending the Ministry ball?”

Those were the first words out of Hermione’s mouth when she entered the new lab that he’d persuaded the castle to make. It was large, square, and filled with potions supplies, as well as directly connected to the storage room. She looked around while she held her wand between her lips and tied her hair up. 

Severus scowled. “Planning is too generous of a word,” he said, ignoring the fact that she was wearing a very nice blouse today, that showed her figure quite nicely, and lay low enough on her chest to show all of her perfect neck and collarbones. “Minerva is making me go, and I do not want to be Headmaster, so I have to attend.” 

Hermione snorted. “Maybe if you’re there it’ll be less insufferable.” She finished putting her hair in a bun and stuck her wand through it. 

“What, me or the ball?”

“The ball. You’re not insufferable.” She pulled out a handful of her little muggle-made Granger-enchanted devices. “Harry and I grabbed some extra toys when we were last in muggle London, so we’ve got new stuff to play with.” 

Severus tried to not look too eager, and then gave up, hurrying over to nose at them. The first thing he picked up was a circle of blades radiating from a ring in the center. “What the hell is this?”

“Apple corer.” 

He arched a brow. “And these?” He held up a series of metal mesh balls.

“Tea balls. They’re for loose leaf tea, but I thought they might be helpful for steeping ingredients.” 

“Might be helpful for loose leaf tea, too.” He tossed a pair on the desk. “These?” 

“Spiralizer. For peeling.”

He grabbed a pair of what looked like scissors, with many parallel blades. “This?”

“Herb scissors.”

He made an interested noise, then pulled out a white cutting board, blank except for a red circle on one side. As soon as he touched it, he could feel the power of the charms she’d imbued in it. “What’s it do?”

She giggled a little, then pointed to the circle. “It weighs whatever you put in that circle.” 

“You’re brilliant,” he whispered, wandering off to play with the cutting board and the herb scissors. 

Granger really was brilliant. Her ways of increasing efficiency were absolutely mind-blowing. Also, incredibly attractive. Sexy, even, if he was allowing himself liberties that he shouldn’t. Sure, she was no longer his student, but she was still much younger, and much more attractive, and deserved so much better than a lecherous old potions master with piles and piles of issues. 

Severus was lost in his thoughts for an hour--thoughts that were split evenly between adoration of Hermione, self-flagellation, and potions--before he realized he definitely needed to mention something to her. It’d been in the apprenticeship contract, but it was something that needed to be talked about. 

“By the way,” he said, apropos of nothing, “It’s a requirement that an apprentice either invent or immeasurably improve on a pre-existing potion in order to gain their Mastery.” 

“That was on the contract.” 

“Yes. I was wondering if you had any particular ideas.” 

There it was, hesitation. He knew what she was thinking about, and he wasn’t sure why she was so loathe to talk about it. 

“Well, I have a few ideas for improving on the sleeping draughts that I can start with,” she said, although it sounded more like a question. 

“A good start, but I expect nothing but the best from the brightest witch of our time.” 

She scoffed, and he could sense her rolling her eyes without looking over from his brewing. “I also want to start selling some of my charmed potions-making implements.”

“Another good start.” 

The sigh that came out of her was almost a whine, like she was reluctant to give up the information. Which she probably was, and also why he was being an asshole and forcing it out of her. 

He should probably be less of an asshole. 

Spinning on his heel, he looked her right in the eyes. “You don’t have to tell me why specifically,” he said. “I just only require assurance that there’s enough of a need.” 

She bit her lip, and his fingers twitched with the urge to pull it out of her teeth before she could do any more damage. He ignored them, hiding them in the folds of his robe. 

“The spell obliviate is… I mean, it’s really rare, but it’s irreversible,” she said, drumming her fingers against the tabletop that she was brewing at. “I’ve performed it a few times, and seen it used, and it can be really damaging. I want to create a potion to reverse it. Hopefully it’ll be broad enough to restore any number of magic-induced memory losses.” She paused. “I think that I might be… biased, heavily, by a personal investment.” 

“I disagree,” Severus replied, not bothering to react to her wide, nervous eyes, or the way she instinctively drew backwards at the possibility of disapproval. “Reversing a previously irreversible spell, a spell that can damage someone’s mental health beyond repair, is definitely a worthy task. I think that would be more than enough to earn your Mastery.” 

She stared at him, and he watched as relief flooded her features, her lips parting in surprise and turning up into a grin. Warmth crept into his chest, and he wanted to beat it away like one might a fire. Then, realization dawned, and she scowled at him. 

“You were waiting for me to say that! You were gonna keep going until I brought it up!” Her scowl faltered, replaced by a grin, and he burst out laughing. “Oh, you are such a--”

Severus turned back to his brewing, knowing too well that the pretty shade of pink she turned when infuriated would not be good for his cardiac health. “A what, Granger?” he asked over his shoulder, grinning at her. “Greasy git? Dungeon bat? Asshole?” One of those might hurt, coming from her, and it was ‘greasy git.’ The rest would probably come out too teasingly for him to take seriously. “I’ve heard it all before.” 

She fumed for a moment. _“Meanie-pants!”_ she spat, finally. 

Severus paused, stunned, and then burst out laughing at both her vitriol and the insult’s utter lack of spite behind it. “Okay, touché. I actually _haven’t_ heard that one before.”

“Hah.” 

“Anyway,” he said with a yawn, waving a hand in the air, “Just find all the research you can on memory potions and write up a little bibliography for me so it can be a formal proposal. Then you can actually get to work testing and brewing the potion.” He turned and arched a brow. “In the lab, this time, rather than your room or a lavatory.” 

She rolled her eyes, then mimicked his pose, arching a brow and putting her hands on her hips in the perfect picture of bossy. “To be fair, you wouldn’t have let me brew either of them.” 

_“No shit_ I wouldn’t, they both nearly killed you.” 

“They worked!” 

“I know, that’s the best and worst part.” He laughed as she groaned again, tangling a hand in her hair and using the other to point threateningly at him. 

“The second time the potion worked great. My near-death encounter was absolutely separate from it.” 

“Yes, Hermione, of course, Hermione,” he replied in a drone, an imitation of her answers to him earlier this year.

Her jaw dropped and she grinned at him, putting a hand to her chest in mock offence. “Sev, you little--” She burst out laughing again. “Meanie pants!” 

“What a fearsome insult,” he deadpanned, stirring his cauldron. “Truly, I am quaking in my boots.” 

She walked over to use the blender by him, elbowing him with absolutely no force as she stepped next to him. “I hate you.”

“Yes, yes, I hate you too.”

***

Severus had been left alone to brew the day of the Ministry Ball, Hermione having requested the day off to get ready. He realized as he was packaging a cauldron of burn salve that it meant she would look very, very good. 

Fuck. 

For some reason, the concept twisted his guts into a knot. Severus was not an attractive man by any means, and he was well aware of this. But it was something he had long accepted. 

Except for now. 

When he suddenly wanted to look presentable. 

For a witch half his age. 

He floo’d Minerva immediately. 

“Yes, Sev?” she asked. 

“I’m not coming to the ball tonight,” he said. 

She chuckled. “Yes you are.” 

“No.”

“Yes. What are you scared of?” She looked up, and smiled at him in that awful, horrible way that said she knew exactly what. “Hermione’s getting all done up for her speech. I’m sure she’d be very put out if you missed it.”

“Fuck,” he mumbled aloud, burying his head in his hands. 

“I’ll send Draco over for fashion consultation.”

“I swear to god I’ll--”

Her face vanished from the fire. 

A moment later Draco knocked at the door and stepped in. Severus did not look up from where he was holding his face in his hands. 

“Uh… the Headmistress said you needed help with your outfit for the ball tonight? I didn’t know you were attending, godfather.”

“Fuck,” he said, louder. 

Draco paused, and then Severus swore he heard the pieces click into place in his mind. “Ohhhh. Granger. Right. Well, uh, I’ll just head into your closet then and transfigure something.” 

“I’ll kill you if--”

“--yes, yes, godfather, you’ll kill me if I tell anyone, breathe cheekily in your general direction, or ever insinuate that you are absolutely smitten with Hermione Granger, or mention the fact that you let her call you by a nickname that my father didn’t even get to use. Oh, or the fact that whenever she shows up you start smiling and seem physically incapable of stopping.” 

Smiling? “...Do I really?”

“Yeah.”

Fuck. “Fuck.” 

“Mmhmm. I’ll get some robes ready. Take a shower.” 

“I hate this. I hate you. Fuck.” 

Draco just laughed and wandered into his quarters. 

Severus needed a solid ten minutes to compose himself before he headed to the shower. When he got out, Draco was already gone, having left a transfigured set of clothes on his bed. 

There was a note on top of them. 

_‘HAD TO LEAVE - HARRY’S PICKING ME UP TO GET READY. I’M GOING AS HIS PLUS ONE BY THE WAY. IT’S JUST FOR OPTICS. TIE YOUR HAIR UP. SEE YOU THERE.’ _

Holy shit, were they a thing? Draco’s talk of optics would not fool him. Severus stowed that question away for a later time and looked at what Draco had transfigured. 

Thank fuck his godson had taste. 

The previously plain black frock coat had been transfigured into a tailcoat. The color was so dark that it looked black, but shimmered green where the light hit the fabric. He’d transfigured the fabric into damask-patterned brocade, with lapels of silk. Underneath was an emerald green vest, patterned but more subtly, and a black button-up for beneath that. Draco had also included a cravat, with one of Severus’ more fancy brooches, an emerald engraved with the House Prince heraldry. 

“I hate this,” he said aloud to no one in particular, and then began to change. 

Thankfully, he just had to wear normal black pants, although apparently Draco had cleaned and buffed his black dragonskin boots. It was only after he was fully dressed that he decided that he should probably pull his hair up like Draco said. 

He hesitated at the dressing table. Glasses. Glasses? Glasses… Hermione liked his glasses. He did not like his glasses. Quickly, he sent a patronus to Vector. 

The answer came back momentarily. “You’re lucky I’m between classes. You should wear the glasses.” 

Thank fuck someone else could decide for him. He put them on, worried that they made him look much, much older, but eventually gave up on worrying and headed out to have a panic attack before the ball began. 

Minerva took pity on him and, for the next two hours until the portkey on the invitation was activated, gave him light doses of firewhiskey and talked him down from the ledge--metaphorical and literal--at least six times. She finally figured out how to keep him from fiddling with everything (giving him something to knit, of all the bloody solutions) and found a topic that would keep him occupied without making him panic (Draco and Potter, an even worse option). 

Severus finished another row and continued to knit compulsively. Minerva watched him enviously. “You’re a natural. I think next time I can start you on a hat.” 

“I hate this,” he said, breathlessly, as he systematically made his way through the next row of the scarf she’d given him, switching knots at the next row. 

“Oh look, the portkey activated a half an hour ago--”

_“Fuck!”_

“--which means we’re now fashionably late, and have time enough to get comfortably buzzed before the stars show up and give their speeches.”

“I hate this, I hate you, I’m going to leave and become a hermit off the coast of Norway and never talk to anyone again.” 

“Severus, calm down.” Minerva stood. She was in a classic, timeless black gown with her robes transfigured into a poncho-like shrug, with the Hogwarts logo stitched into them. She held out her hand to him, the other hand holding the portkey. “Let’s go.” 

Severus practically flung the knitting across the room, the ball of yarn whirling off like a poorly aimed meteor, and grabbed her hand. 

The next moment, they were outside the Ministry ballroom. It was a huge, official hall, all white marble and hideously stuffy obsequiousness. It was partially ballroom, but also partially auditorium, as evidenced by a balcony of seats and several boxes framing the stage, like in an overture hall. Absently, he strolled in with Minerva, barely offering recognition of the greetings of the officials, and followed her to the refreshments table. 

She picked up two glasses of champagne and a plate of chocolate-covered strawberries, then lead the way to a pair of seats in one of the boxes, reserved for the delegates from Hogwarts. 

Once they were there, she handed him the champagne. 

“The dancing will happen after the speeches,” she explained. “Since I know that you didn’t read the invitation.”

He nodded stiffly. 

“You know, all things considered, you’re doing an admirable imitation of pre-Granger Severus right now. I don’t think anyone except for Granger, Potter, Malfoy, myself, and maybe Kingsley will notice anything.” 

“Reassuring,” he told her dryly, before sipping his champagne. 

“See? Just like that.” 

He just shot her a glare, which made her laugh. 

“We’ve got ten minutes until the speeches. Try and relax a little.” 

Severus did not. 

Ten minutes later, everyone found their seats and the room hushed. 

Potter strode in from the entrance, and heads turned to follow his passage. His robes were simple, traditional, and embroidered with the full Hogwarts logo--with equal care paid to each House. There was no indication of purely Gryffindor loyalties. His vest was black and his tie was patterned in all four colors, which Severus thought would’ve looked too busy, but somehow didn’t. 

Ascending to the podium, Potter bowed to the light smattering of applause and began to talk about cooperation, between Houses and between wizards of all origins. Severus tried to pay attention. He really did. This was the boy who had killed Voldemort, and he had the maturity to show for it. Severus found that, remarkably, he did care what Potter had to say. 

Unfortunately, he was also about to explode from nervousness. A figure waving at him from the back of the room caught his eye. He looked closer. Draco. Draco had the biggest shit-eating grin and was giving him a double thumbs up. 

Severus couldn’t help but roll his eyes, although he made sure to shut them so people wouldn’t assume he was rolling his eyes at Potter. No need to undermine the boy’s play at optics. It felt like hours before Potter finished his speech, although a glance at his pocketwatch (Draco was definitely gay, who could’ve thought otherwise?) told him it had only been fifteen minutes. 

He applauded with the other attendees, raising his hands and nodding in appreciation to Potter, an imitation of a gesture that Minerva did. Potter grinned at him, looking very… mischievous. Oh god. What was about to happen. 

As the applause died down, Potter added, “Now it is my great honor to introduce the brightest witch of our time and my adoptive sister, Miss Hermione Granger.”

All eyes turned to the entrance of the room, and Severus found his mouth very dry and the world suddenly very far away. 

“Oh,” Severus breathed. 

Her chestnut hair was twirled up into an understated french twist, a single lock of perfectly curled hair framing her face. The attention was diverted, instead, to her gown. 

It was skin-tight and reminded him of black orchid petals made of black velvet. One petal curved up her chest, and another down, but there was a gap between them--a gap that displayed, perfectly and proudly, the knotted and still-purple scar that Severus recognized instantly as coming from Dolohov’s trademark curse. The scar split the length of her torso, from her right shoulder to her left hip. As she walked forward, Severus realized the entire dress was designed to perfectly enhance and display her scars. Her back was covered in the silvery Lichtenberg scar of at least one cruciatus, which arced from the small of her back up through her shoulderblades, leaving the dress entirely backless. The black fabric slipped back in over her hips and fell to the ground in an asymmetrical skirt, high at the front and trailing just barely across the ground in the back. 

One of her arms was covered in a black velvet opera glove. The other was bare. 

The room was dead silent as she ascended to the podium. Severus thought he might die. She twirled to stand in front of them, in all her scarred beauty, and smiled with all the sweetness in the world at everyone present. 

He recognized that smile. That was the smile she made before she eviscerated someone. 

“Thank you all for having me here tonight,” Hermione began, her voice honey-sweet and firewhiskey-smooth. Severus found himself leaning forward in his chair, despite all his attempts otherwise, as surely as if someone had tied a thread around his heart and attached the other end to Hermione’s little finger. 

“My brother has just spoken about unity,” she said. “Tonight… I would like to talk to you about scars.” At this, she raised her bare arm and the world stopped. 

MUDBLOOD. 

The word hit him like the killing curse. He knew that word. He’d said that word. That word had been his weapon for years, and all the penance in the world would not save him from the simple judgement of that single word. It was there on her arm, as angry and puckered as if it had been carved that very day while she was getting her makeup and hair done. He recognized the work of the cursed blade immediately. 

“Bellatrix,” he spat, and a second wave of gasps filled the room. 

Hermione just continued to smile, her bearing demure and maybe even shy. “Correct, Professor Snape.” The words rolled off of her tongue like a siren’s charm, and for a moment she made eye contact with him. The sheer power in her golden eyes drained the life out of him. “Thank you. You see, this war was based around one scar, the scar that my brother bears, and that scar marked him as a savior. But it is time for the wizarding world to understand that scars are not just objects to be alternately abhorred or beautified, feared or exalted, and certainly not just marks of prophecy. No,” she said, suddenly turning very serious, the power that had enthralled him with a simple glance now emanating from her in waves as she turned to address the congregation directly, fearlessly making eye contact with as many key players as she could.

“It is time for the wizarding world to acknowledge that scars are much more than that. They are marks of _suffering,_ a suffering perpetuated and in some cases _encouraged_ by the system that we are, all of us, _complicit_ in. It is time we recognize scars for what they really are: a sign that our system is failing each and every one of us, but especially our children, some of whom cannot even walk before they are branded with a scar that will _irrevocably_ change their life.” 

A warm and foreign sensation unfurled in Severus’ chest like a flower opening in bloom. At the time, he didn’t know what it was or what it meant, but when he looked back on the moment later he could say without a doubt what the feeling was. 

It was then and there that Severus fell hopelessly and utterly in love.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm incredibly flattered by the responses to the last chapter! I love you all <3 I'm really glad you enjoyed reading the chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it! 
> 
> This is the 10 days online anniversary for this fic and I'm absolutely floored by the responses that I've gotten in just ten days. As a thanks I've also decided to release the first 3k of my HG/SS marriage law fic. It won't be updating as frequently or as regularly as this one, but hopefully you guys enjoy it. <3

“I think I’m about to die,” Severus said quietly as the room erupted into applause at the end of Hermione’s speech. 

Well. Most of the room. A few higher-ups in the DMLE had stormed out, which had seemed just to amuse her, as she’d responded with the comment, “Our generation will be paying for these flaws, whether or not you want to acknowledge them.” 

The speech had been primarily about the wizarding community’s lack of ability to confront and discuss the actions of Tom, which had allowed him to grow in their silence. With no active resistance or reprisal, he was allowed to continue--even encouraged, by a Ministry that was all bark and no bite. 

Minerva arched a brow at Severus’ words as both of them gave a standing ovation. Harry had come back to escort the radiant Hermione off the stage. 

“In a literal or Shakespearean sense?” Minerva asked. 

Severus glared at her. He’d read Shakespeare, he knew the bard used ‘to die’ as a euphemism for orgasm. 

“Well?” Minerva prompted. 

“Both,” he replied.

Minerva looked quite satisfied. “My babies are growing up,” she whispered. 

Sev shot her a Look. She didn’t react. Damn. Was she growing immune? He’d have to up his game. 

She moved towards the door, tugging him with her as the chairs on the floor began to disappear as people stood, revealing the space’s marble tiles. House elves popped in and out faster than the eye could see, changing the room from an auditorium for a speech into a ballroom, complete with refilled refreshments. 

“I need more champagne,” he told Minerva, who rolled her eyes but nonetheless made towards the refreshment table. 

Severus snatched up a glass of champagne and, using all of his skills, ran away from the crowds that immediately started swarming around Minerva. He slipped over to the wall of the room, leaning against it and immediately projecting his normal glower to drive away all but the most determined ministry officials. 

The speech-makers were getting swarmed by the journalists in attendance, and Severus noted that Draco was now on Potter’s arm. With a quick wandless charm, Severus listened in. 

“Oh, no, Potter invited me as part of an initiative for inter-House cooperation,” Draco was saying. 

Severus rolled his eyes. Optics. ‘Optics’ was a very Slytherin way of saying ‘I have a massive crush on the Boy Who Lived A Couple Times.’

“Yes, my sister and I discussed what we’d talk about in our speeches,” Potter replied to a journalist. “I support her entirely. She’s so much more eloquent than I am, and I’m really grateful she had the strength to confront this issue.” 

“Miss Granger! Why did you decide to apprentice under Potions Master Severus Snape?”

Oh, fuck. Severus considered canceling his eavesdropping spell. This seemed like the perfect time to run away, he could just compliment Hermione later, when she wasn’t wearing that horribly perfect dress that made him want to kiss each and every one of her scars, oh god, that was not an appropriate thought. 

“Because he shows me the capability each and every one of us has to change and be better,” Hermione answered. Too late. No chance to cancel the charm now. Severus glanced over at her, and was snared by those golden eyes. Fuck. Did she know he was listening in? “I have often been accused of being proud and unable to change, and that’s true. I personally struggle to admit when I am wrong and truly make an effort to become better. Severus is the perfect example of someone who has taken their mistakes and turned them around.” 

That was a bald-faced lie and Hermione must’ve known it. 

“He pushes me to be better myself.”

Pointedly ignoring the strange fluttery feeling those words gave him, Severus took his time draining the rest of his champagne before he went for a second glass. More obnoxious politics-talk. He canceled the eavesdropping charm. These three had been kids just a couple of years ago. Severus pinched the bridge of his nose. It was the war that had ruined them, and he had been complicit in all of that. 

There was that word again. _Complicit. _

Maybe it was time for Severus to start speaking out, too. Maybe he ought to actually become the person Granger seemed determined to convince everyone else he was. (Maybe she was trying to convince him, too.) 

At long last, the journalists were herded away from the three stars of the show, and with the door no longer clogged with people clamoring for answers, Severus began to consider running away early. He got about two strides towards his goal when a hand touched his arm lightly. 

Severus whirled and found Hermione standing there, resplendent in her black dress. And very close. So close he could smell her, all honey and cinnamon.

“Sev!” Her voice was quiet but warm. Severus wanted to leave. 

Oh god. Everyone was looking at him. And probably her. Probably more her than him, but it did not help his nervousness either way. 

“Hi,” he said, lamely.

She stepped closer, taking his arm. “Are you running away? Please take me with you. I think Rita’s around here somewhere and I really am so over her trying to write me as in love with Harry. He’s my brother, for fuck’s sake.” Hermione glanced around, and Severus saw the calculation and wariness that he recognized from when she was fighting Dark Wizards. It was almost hilarious, that she had to engage the same paranoia for Rita Skeeter, except for the part where Skeeter was a legitimate menace and horrible journalist. 

Glancing back at him, Hermione smiled up at him. She was an angel, Severus decided. Definitely no other reason she’d put up with him. 

“You look nice,” she told him. “I like green on you. And you wore your glasses!”

Severus realized he had not said anything to her besides ‘hi.’ Which was a pity, really, because she deserved all the compliments he could think of. 

He attempted to speak, managed to clear his throat, and finally got out, “You too.” Nice one, Severus. Apparently after years of never saying nice things, it took a little bit to get back in the habit. 

The orchestra was starting to play. Severus looked around, noting that the Potter-Malfoy couple was already on the floor, laughing at something. He narrowed his eyes at them. 

“Yeah,” Hermoine said. “They’re getting along extremely well, everyone thinks that they’re dating.” 

“Unsurprising.” 

Hermione beamed at him. “That’s the most you’ve said!”

He rolled his eyes. 

“When McGonagall said this wasn’t your scene, she really meant it, huh?” Hermione asked, standing up on her tiptoes as if to examine him closer. Oh god. She was far too close. Severus froze like a deer in wandlight, watching her warily.

“Yes,” he replied, finally.

She laughed and went down from her tiptoes. “Please bring me with you if you leave. Please. Most of these older officials seem a little too eager to grab at me.” 

Severus felt his expression darken. Of course they would. A pretty little piece of flesh, who’d look very nice dancing with them on the front page of the Daily Prophet. Was he much better? No. They were three times her age, he was twice her age, and he certainly was attracted to her as they were, the point was relatively moot. Old lecher, he told himself. 

“Miss Granger!” A much older man appeared, and Severus’ stomach acid curdled at the way the man leered at Hermione’s body. Hermione, for her part, stood strong, but her grip on Severus’ arm tightened considerably. “Might I have the honor of this dance?”

“Oh-!” Hermione said. 

Severus opened his mouth to say something, he didn’t know what, and an entirely different set of words fell out without his bidding. “Actually, Miss Granger is reserved for most of the night already,” he replied. “Between myself, Mr. Potter, Mr. Malfoy, and Minister Shacklebolt, she has practically a full card. I expect that she will not be free for any dances.” 

Hermione looked up at him, and out of the corner of his eye, he could see the thankfulness in her gaze. She smiled as the official spluttered. “Yes, it’s true,” she said. “Apologies, sir.” 

The official mumbled something and wandered off, and Hermione let out a sigh of relief. Severus guided her back towards the wall, away from the crowds. 

“Just because I wear something nice to prove a point doesn’t mean they’re allowed to touch me,” she muttered, stamping her heeled foot. Severus glanced down with amusement at the pretty pink shade she turned when angry. 

“And I’m any better?” he asked, arching a brow as he leaned back against the wall. She still hadn’t let go of his arm, which he was a good deal more proud of than he ought to be. He looked out over the ballroom, watching her just out of the corners of his eyes. 

She looked affronted. “Obviously,” she said, rolling her eyes. “You’re not an old creep.” 

“I know several hundred students who would disagree with you.” 

“Yeah, well, they’re all-” her lips pursed into a scarlet line _“-dunderheads.” _

Severus snorted. “You really meant it when you said you have difficulties admitting when you’re incorrect.” 

Her look of offence turned to a wicked smile. She inched closer and poked him in the chest. “I knew you were listening in.” 

It was his turn to roll his eyes. 

“Besides, you’re not just trying to dance with me for ‘optics,’” she said, spitting the word out like he might say ‘Gryffindor.’ The familiarity of tone nearly made him smile, before he remembered where he was and the joy was stolen away. 

“That seems like a semantic distinction.” 

Hermione was silent for a moment, while Severus watched some more pairs migrate to the floor. Then she stepped in front of him, commanding his attention. Her eyes were wide and worried. “Sev, you don’t have to dance--especially not with me--if you don’t want to.”

Inconveniently, his throat went dry again. He swallowed a couple of times and cleared it before he managed to make noise once more. 

“It’s up to you. I understand that you don’t want to dance with old creeps.” 

“Oh my god--” She looked skyward, as if beseeching a greater power for help. “Keep up, Sev, we already established that you’re not an old creep. Now, if you’re not asking me to dance, I’m asking you. Do you want to dance?”

“Okay,” he said before he could second-guess himself. 

“Besides,” Hermione continued as she pulled him towards the floor, “I don’t want them to touch me, but you touching me is fine.” 

He stopped at the edge of the dance floor and cast a muffliato around them. “Hermione--” He swallowed hard as she drew closer to match his quiet words. “I--I’m not good. You have to stop thinking that I’m good, or worthwhile. I’m just an old, broken asshole who spent the past two decades tormenting children and the decade before that being an honest to goodness utter piece of shit. I am not a war hero or a misunderstood good guy. It was me, that made these awful things happen, it was my decisions. I can’t let you delude yourself into thinking that--”

“Severus,” Hermione interrupted, reaching up with one hand to cup his jaw and force him to face her. Her hand was warm and unblemished and the word MUDBLOOD written down her arm connected him to her, as if coming from his mouth. 

The word pushed him onwards. “No, Hermione, you don’t understand. That word was my weapon. I made people’s lives hell with that word.” 

“Severus Snape, will you _shut up for a minute?!” _

Her words were much more brusque this time, and Severus froze, hoping that his points had been hammered home. Her eyes met his and they were filled with the fire he recognized from years earlier, the fire that had been nearly extinguished so many times. He loved it. Thank god he could finally bask in the righteous fury of Hermione Granger, directed fully at him. 

“Have you been paying attention at all?” she hissed, drawing closer. Her tone was clipped, minced, angry. “I just gave a whole fucking speech about how the errors of the past were in the past and that the future needed to be about healing and reformation. Quite frankly I don’t give a flying fuck about the dumb shit you did when you were seventeen.”

Severus’ mouth popped open to try and counter that, but one finger placed over his lips to stop him. It was quite effective. 

“Was it dumb? Yes! Was it shitty? Yes! But defining the rest of your life by that dumb shit is letting them win. I did some dumb shit at seventeen. I mean hell, I was still crushing on Ronald Weasley at that age, and that turned out to be a _bad fucking plan._ I understand there’s a lot of trauma wrapped up in what happened to you, and I’m not saying it isn’t valid. What I’m saying is that only a _fool_ would let themselves be defined by the dumb shit that they did at seventeen for the rest of their lives. ” 

The hand she’d put over his mouth dropped to her hip, in a very bossy pose. A very bossy pose that, in conjunction with her words, was swiftly destroying his cardiac health, by the way. 

“Now. I am well aware that I did not know you nearly well enough during the war, and probably still don’t. But I am certain that Severus Snape is not a fool, and is not about to let a gaggle of dipshit Gryffindors run his life.” She tossed her head determinedly, like a thestral herd’s lead mare. “And I feel relatively confident that Severus Snape does not easily give up, either. So I am not about to just sit here and-” she stomped her foot again, an action which was swiftly climbing up Severus’ list of ‘favorite sights’ “-let your future be ruled by a past that practically enslaved you under two masters. And neither should you.” 

Severus would’ve said something, if he could’ve. But as it stood, he was terrified that if he tried to voice anything, it would come out as an entirely inappropriate and altogether too emotional treatise on how unbelievably sweet she was. So he just sat there, with his mouth open, like a dunderhead. 

“That’s what I thought,” Hermione finished, smiling up at him and maneuvering his hands into the correct position for a waltz while he was still stunned. “Now, you’re going to dance with me and then I’ll let you wander off to glower at people from the little table McGonagall’s got for us.” 

Damn her. Damn her for springing all of that on him when they were in public and he couldn’t angrily retreat to his quarters. Damn her for saying all of that shit when he was very much not allowed to kiss her. 

“Thanks,” he said, finally. 

She shook her head. “You saved my brother’s life at least three times, I owe you more than that. Now come on. I’m shit at waltzing, I can only do the basic steps, so I’ll need you to lead.” 

Hermione cancelled the muffliato and he began to lead her around the floor, silently at first. She was a decent dancer, and he got the feeling that she was limited more by her lack of confidence than any actual lack of skill. Which was entirely too appropriate for Hermione Granger. 

After a minute, it seemed like Hermione couldn’t stand it anymore. “How long have you known about Draco?” she asked, nodding meaningfully at where Draco and Harry were dancing and laughing. 

“Since he was three.” 

That got a snort of laughter out of her. She grinned up at him, and it was almost like everything returned to normal and she hadn’t just struck him with lightning and at least six Unforgivable Compliments. “Was it that obvious?”

Severus nodded. “He asked for hair pomade for his birthday. Sure, he’s a Malfoy, but what three-year-old knows the word ‘pomade’?”

“Only Draco Malfoy would,” Hermione giggled as he twirled her. 

“How’s Potter doing, given…” Severus arched a brow. 

Hermione’s smile fell, and he regretted the question for a moment, important as it was. “Better than I expected,” she admitted. “I think it helps that I’m--” She cut herself off and bit her lip, then retried, “...I’m also bi, or maybe pan, but basically I’m not… not normal, you know-”

“Hermione,” Severus interrupted, fixing her with a Look, “You ought to know perfectly well that no orientation is ‘normal,’ so kindly stop that line of thought before you hurt yourself.”

She was looking up at him through her eyelashes. Fuck, the makeup was really doing things to him. She was gorgeous normally, but apparently some minor charms made him completely unable to function. It was just a little smoky eye. 

Wait. She looked relieved. Was she…?

_No, Severus, do not go down the path of ‘pretty Gryffindor might have a crush on you.’ A new lease on life is fine, but you won’t be fooled again. _

“Besides,” Severus said, practically blurting out the first thing that came to his mind, “Molly Weasley ought to have raised her children better. Given that in her own youth, she was not…” Hang on. There was a fly buzzing nearby. Time to lay a trap, and hope that he managed to not snare himself in the process. 

“Not what?” Hermione asked, wide-eyed and mischievous.

“A moment, Hermione, _darling.”_ He let the word drip with honey. After all, he’d heard you caught more flies that way. Severus twirled Hermione around, and while she was still recovering from the step, pulled her closer and stepped forward. 

“Sev--!” She let out a little squeak as he dipped her, one of his hands firmly on the small of her back and both of hers wrapped around his neck, her eyes wide and pupils blown. 

In the same easy movement, Severus snatched the fly out of the air. 

He could feel it--or her, rather--buzzing frantically against the closed walls of his fist. As he pulled Hermione out of the dip, he murmured an incantation. 

Light flashed and something cracked inside his fist, and a moment later he threw the fly (beetle, actually) to the side, and Rita Skeeter tumbled to the floor. Severus did not miss a step, twirling Hermione away from the scene as Auror guards piled on Rita. 

Hermione stopped dancing and clung to him, one hand on his hip and the other on his breast, the entire length of her body pressed against him. He could feel her heart beating rapidly, almost fluttering, against his side as she looked between the journalist and Severus. 

“Brilliant,” she whispered. Her voice was breathless. 

“Sorry.” 

“For what?” She was grinning widely up at him, her eyes sparkling with triumph and something wicked. Her irises were just rings of golden brown around huge pupils. Something entirely unwelcome rushed into his blood. “That was incredible, Sev, holy shit, you were _so s--”_ She broke off before she could finish the sentence, biting down on one curled finger as if to physically stop herself from speaking. He wanted desperately to steal that hand away. God. He needed to sit down before he lost control of himself. 

“Want to grab refreshments while the Aurors clear out the unlicensed animagus?” he offered. He tried to make it sound like the refreshments were for her, but it was really an out for him. 

She was studying him closely, and he got the feeling that his panic was not lost on her. Fuck. “Yeah,” she said, finally. “Those truffles look good.” 

He guided her off the dance floor, noting where Minerva had staked out a table for all five of them--just as Granger had said. Minerva was such a team mom. Unfortunately, she was busy getting accosted by some Aurors, so he’d have to survive the three troublemakers on his own. 

As they arrived, Hermione still on his arm, Severus busied himself with pulling out and pushing in her chair for her. Draco and Harry arrived not long later. 

“Holy shit!” Harry said as a greeting, beaming at Severus. “I can’t believe Severus just single-handedly destroyed everyone’s least favorite fiction writer!” 

“Emphasis on _single_ handedly,” Hermione replied, sounding inordinately smug and draping her hand on Severus’ arm as he sat down to her right. Her touch sent tingles into his muscle, even through the multiple layers of fabric. “He didn’t even need both hands for it.”

Draco took the seat on Severus’ other side. He leaned in to whisper. “You’re getting some tonight, she looks like she wants to eat you alive.” 

“I’ll smack you,” Severus told him without looking over, instead busying himself with critically inspecting the little tiramisu slice that he’d picked up. It looked tasty and pretty. Like other things which happened to be nearby. What he hated most about the cake was that Draco was right, and had just explained the wicked glint in Hermione’s eyes. He swallowed, hard at the realization. _Mm. Not good. Down, boy. _

Adjusting how he was sitting to better disguise things with the aid of the tablecloth, he stabbed mercilessly at the tiramisu with the fork and thought of the least appealing thing he could (Hagrid in his grandmother’s nightgown). It wasn’t working, so Severus decided to throw himself off the parapets later that night. In the meantime, he could listen to the conversation. 

“I always did wonder about Skeeter’s journalism,” Draco was saying as Potter very un-sneakily snuck more food onto his plate. “I mean, some of the shit I could buy--the two of you being an item seemed feasible enough--but Granger never struck me as the type to do, you know, what was it she said about Krum? ‘Hermione Granger Seduces Future Quidditch Star’ or something like that?”

This conversation was actually very helpful. As it turned out, listening to talk of people smearing Hermione’s reputation helped resolve his hardon into more productive anger. 

Hermione rolled her eyes. “You forgot to mention that I did that in an attempt to make Harry jealous. I was playing Harry’s affections against his or something.” He enjoyed how Hermione wrinkled her nose at the concept of being attached romantically to Potter, although he wasn’t sure whether it was moreso the expression or the feelings behind it. 

“I honestly can’t remember,” Harry replied with a shrug. “Shows you how true it was. I do recall that Molly kept believing her rubbish. Multiple times! Thank goodness for _The Quibbler.”_

Draco snorted. “That’s a phrase I never thought I’d hear.” 

Severus frowned as he glanced over to the dance floor. Unfortunately, his little stunt would definitely have implications in the public press. “Apologies for any articles spawned from tonight.” 

Hermione laughed, a sound as clear and bright as a bell. “Oh, as if I care! I can’t give less of a shit what they write about me.” 

“Except to take bets on it.” Harry leaned in. “Alright. Galleon says that you’ve _seduced the dark and powerful war hero Severus Snape.” _

“You’re on, Potter,” Draco said. “I’ll put in five galleons that someone brings up my godfather’s _penchant for pretty Gryffindor girls.” _

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose. Merlin save him from the Malfoys. 

Harry was cackling, nearly in tears. _“Penchant for pretty Gryffindor girls,”_ he wheezed out. 

“Alliterative!” Hermione beamed at Draco, who looked quite smug. “Brilliant, you’re a natural. Think I played hard to get, or did I use his long unrequited love?” 

Draco just arched a platinum blonde brow and replied, suavely, “The _unrequited love_ isn’t the only thing that’s long, Granger.” 

Severus pushed out his chair from the table and stood up in one smooth motion. “I believe this where I excuse myself to go take a quick jaunt off the castle parapets. Pardon me.” 

He turned on his heel and practically bolted for the door.

***

Hermione was caught between laughing her ass off and worry. “Draco!” She wiped away tears. “You scared him away!” 

Waving a hand dismissively, Draco reached over and snatched Harry’s champagne glass. Harry’s mouth popped open as if he were about to protest, but didn’t, instead just looking faintly amused. “Listen,” Draco said between sips of Harry’s champagne, “If the man isn’t going to hit on you, I’ll do his work for him, but if he’d just handle his own shit I wouldn’t have to wingman so aggressively.” 

Hermione laughed, unable to even protest the point. She was not about to deny Severus anything, after how he had looked at her and said ‘Hermione darling.’ She’d wanted to rip his clothes off on the spot, especially when she realized it’d been a ploy to get Rita close enough to catch. He’d forced the witch out of her animagus form with a single hand, no wand involved, and if that wasn’t hot enough he’d also just fucking dipped her on the dance floor while doing it. 

“You’re certain it wasn’t just a ploy to catch Skeeter?” she asked, regardless of her own feelings and very strong desire to climb Severus Snape like a tree.

“Oh, I’m certain. It was a ploy to hit on you while he pretended to focus on catching Skeeter.” Draco drained the rest of the champagne glass and put it down back where Harry had it before. “Look, I’ll give him five minutes and then go placate him and drag him back. He’ll come and pretend like everything’s fine and he’s not in desperate need of a shag, and we’ll all drink and sup and be merry.” 

“Draco,” Harry said between breathless laughs, “Did you seriously just use the word ‘sup’ in a sentence as a verb, and not as a colloquialism? Holy shit.” 

The fabulous Draco Malfoy just shrugged, completely unbothered. “I’d make Granger go out and get him herself, but I’m afraid they wouldn’t come back, and then I’d lose my bet to you.” 

Hermione’s jaw dropped, clutching one hand to her chest in mock betrayal. “Harry James Potter, are you already betting on when I hook up with Severus?” 

A new voice broke into the conversation. “I’d like to get in on that pool,” McGonagall said as she sat down. “What are the stakes?”

“I’ve got five galleons that it’ll take them two to four weeks,” Draco said. “Potter thinks it’ll be within the next two.” 

“I am right here!” Hermione hissed. 

Minerva narrowed her eyes. “Winter break. Five galleons.”

“You’re on,” Draco said with a wicked smile. “Now, excuse me, I’m going to go retrieve my sulking godfather.” 

“Get me more champagne while you’re at it!” Harry called after him. “Since you drank all of mine!”


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guess who has insomnia so you guys get an early chapter today lmfao killmepls

Hermione rolled out of bed the next morning. Her hair was still up in the French twist from the ball, thank fuck, but it’d become far less contained. She yanked off her pajamas, pulled on her uniform and a robe, then hurried down to early breakfast. 

Harry was already there, and he waved a newspaper at her. “You up for some fiction reading?” Draco was sitting at his side. 

“Fuck, how bad is it?” Hermione asked with a yawn, sitting down across from them. 

Harry grimaced. “Eh. About as deranged as you might expect.” 

“Watch that skirt length, Granger, or else my godfather might have to dress code you. Or undress code, as it were.” 

“Draco!” Hermione rolled her eyes. “You’re incorrigible.” 

Malfoy shrugged, looking only a little shameful. “I owe him a life debt, might as well help him get laid while I’m at it.” 

“You’re awful,” Hermione told him with a grin that held absolutely no malice. He seemed to take it as a compliment anyway. “What’s the news, who’s getting paid?”

Malfoy grinned and handed her the _Daily Prophet. _

_HARPY HERMIONE GRANGER ENSNARES HER NEXT TARGET! DARK AND POWERFUL WAR HERO SEVERUS SNAPE ENTHRALLED BY ANOTHER GRYFFINDOR GORGON!  
The tragic Severus Snape, well known for his penchant for pretty Gryffindor girls, falls to a new seductress._

“Gryffindor Gorgon’s a new one,” Hermione commented as she tossed the paper to the side and grabbed some toast. “I do wish I could turn some men to stone. That’d be awful convenient.” 

Harry was rifling through another pile of papers when all the joy and blood drained from his face. “Oh,” he said. 

Draco leaned over, and his lip curled into a sneer that looked very, very familiar. 

“Give it here.” Hermoine held out her hand. 

Harry dropped it into her grasp, and she took in the damage. It was a Daily Prophet special edition, which was never a good sign. 

_PERVERTED POTTER - SEDUCED BY SLYTHERIN OR DAMAGED BY DUMBLEDORE? BOY WHO LIVED BECOMES BOY WHO SHAGGED MALFOY HEIR! _

“I might be about to commit arson,” Hermione confessed. “I don’t know how much longer I can let the Daily Prophet stand.” 

“Does the Wizarding World not have libel laws?” Harry sighed, covering his face. “Dumbledore wasn’t perfect, but he wasn’t some old pervert.” 

Hermione scanned down the article, and her brow furrowed deeper. _Two sources close to the Boy Who Lived prior to his fall have confirmed that he was heavily damaged after the war._ “Harry… this has Weasley written all over it.” 

Draco’s eyes flashed with something that mirrored his old hatred. “I’ll bury them,” he spat. 

Harry shook his head. “No, it’s okay, I knew that… I knew there’d be bad press. I’m just glad that they didn’t drag you or Severus down with us. We can handle the papers.” 

Hermione nodded, putting aside the Daily Prophet and rifling through the rest of the papers. Most were just coverage of her and Harry’s love lives, but a couple caught her eyes. 

“It’s bloody wrong!” Draco exploded. “They can’t just go shitslinging about because Ronald Fucking Weasley couldn’t get a shag on demand! And Ginny--” He hesitated, winced, and shook his head as if physically restraining himself. “Fuck. I know you still love her, Harry, but she’s being a right bitch about this.” 

“I know,” Harry sighed. “I tried to talk to her. I sent her a little note, too, but I just… I guess she thinks I’m disgusting now.” His voice nearly broke, and Hermoine reached over from the papers to squeeze his hand. 

Draco let out a guttural scoff. “I wish I was still allowed to beat people up in the corridors when the teachers weren’t looking. It’d be so easy to solve this.” 

Harry managed a smile at that. 

Hermione pulled out the _Quibbler_ and smiled at it. “Bless Xenophilius Lovegood,” she murmured, holding it out for them to see. 

_THE FUTURE OF WIZARDING BRITAIN - GRANGER AND POTTER SPEAK OUT ABOUT VISIONS FOR PROGRESS!_ The photo was of Hermione holding out her MUDBLOOD scar, Dolohov’s scar also in full view, and smiling demurely.

Draco’s eyes burned. “I control the Malfoy fortune,” he said, in the same tone of realization that Ron had once said ‘Hermione, you’re a girl.’ “I can fund his entire bloody fucking paper.” 

“Oh my god, Draco, you’re turning into a Gryffindor,” Hermione said with a fond smile, handing the paper over to Harry. 

He sneered and rolled his eyes. “No, I just want to control the _public perception and information flow,_ and that is a _very Slytherin ideal, thank you very much Her-mi-o-ne Granger.”_ Although his words were snippy, his tone indicated he hadn’t taken offence--which was a wild change from Old Draco. 

Hermione chuckled and munched down on her toast. “You guys know that the Yuletide Ball is coming up, right?” She arched a brow. “People--not naming names--are likely to try and retaliate then.” 

“I’m naming names,” Draco said. “Ronald Weasley and Ginerva Weasley, to start with.” 

Harry heaved another lovelorn sigh. “At least we get to officially graduate then,” he muttered. “And officially take up our staff positions here.”

Draco blinked. “Oh yeah. What the fuck have you guys been doing here, anyway?”

“They were nice enough to give us a week break after the N.E.W.T.s, so we haven’t had too much time to get into our staff duties. But Harry makes up Minerva’s one-man Auror-Shaming Team,” Hermione explained, to Harry’s snort of amusement. “He’s been TAing some of the younger years in DADA, essentially replacing Forwit.” 

“Thank fuck for that.” 

“I’m also going to be helping with… interviews for the next DADA teacher over break.” Harry grinned. “Which is a huge relief, because I’m hoping that then I can find someone… competent.” 

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Bring me with, or else we’re all going to be subjected to some quidditch-loving dunderhead for the rest of the year.” 

“Hey!” Harry grinned at her shit-eatingly. “Ouch, you don’t trust me to know a decent DADA teacher when I see one, Miss Crushing On Lockhart?”

“Harry James Potter--”

“For real?” Draco asked, then paused. “Okay, yeah, I mean his hair was always a work of art.” Hermione rolled her eyes, Severus’ words about ‘pomade’ coming back to her. “But your current teacher crush is much more palatable. Do you spend most of your time working with him?”

Hermione nodded. “If you make a snide comment I will hex your hair into a horrid shade of barf orange,” she told him before anything could come out of his mouth. Draco was silent, but sent her a Look that did the job of any words he could’ve strung together. “I spend most of my time preparing his lesson plans and making potions for the infirmary, while he brews ... actually, he brews these massive batches of healing poultices and potions and I have no idea where they’re going. I assume he’s selling them.” 

“Oh, I can shed some light on that. As long as you promise to not hex my hair orange--although we might get along better that way, you do have a fondness for gingers.” 

Harry snorted his pumpkin juice and Hermione laughed. “Fine. You’re safe for now.” 

Draco glanced around furtively, and leaned in as if they were conspiring against the Dark Lord or something. “Ever since the trial, godfather’s been making medicine, free of charge, for a couple of war orphan charities and St. Mungo’s.”

“He still feels guilty,” Hermione murmured. 

With a nod, Malfoy continued, “Most of his paycheck goes towards ingredients and monetary donations. The charities are purely philanthropic, as far as I can tell, but I think some of the potions that go to St. Mungo’s are really an attempt to sweeten them up so they’ll tell him who saved his life in the Shack.” Draco tapped his fingers rhythmically on the table, glancing around again like this was some highly secret information. “Can’t tell if he wants to murder or thank his savior, honestly.” 

Harry and Hermione exchanged looks. 

“Oh _no,”_ Draco said, and they both turned guiltily to him. He arched a brow, like he was scolding mischievous children. “Alright, which one of you did it?” His eyes slid over to Harry, who looked like a puppy that had just been told it peed on the carpet. 

“Harry?” 

Harry shook his head nervously, just a little, like a tremble. 

Draco’s eyes drifted over to Hermione. “Hermione,” he said, sternly. 

She just stared at the ground. “Maybe,” she mumbled. 

With a sigh, Draco rubbed at his temples. “Fucking Merlin, what am I going to do with you two Gryffindors. Won’t crack under torture but the instant somebody gives you a disapproving look, you’re in shambles.” 

“I didn’t intend to, okay!” Hermione burst out. “I mean, I just was trying to ease as many on their way as I could and I went to the Shack and--and-” She spluttered. “-I knew we could save him, so I went for it. I didn’t realize until later…” Trailing off, she looked at Draco. “Do you... know what he had on him?”

Draco paused, as if weighing her words. “Generally, yes,” he replied. “But not the specifics.” 

“Potions, Malfoy,” Hermione whispered, leaning in just as he had. “Potions that could’ve saved his life.”

“Could’ve?” He arched a brow. 

“He _didn’t take them,”_ she whispered. “And guess who ruined that? Some fucking insufferable Gryffindor know-it-all chit.” 

Malfoy was silent for a long time. Then, at long last, he drew breath and said, “I mean, you don’t know everything,--”

“Draco!” Harry groaned.

“Sorry.” He did look sorry, for once. “I mean, my only other response was ‘fuck,’ so that’s about all I’ve got.” 

“Do you think he has a life debt to me?” she asked quietly. “That could be why he’s being so nice.” 

“Oh, trust me, he doesn’t,” Draco said, with wide eyes that said he had specific experience with that sort of thing. “Severus would be a lot more vocally grouchy if he had a life debt to anybody.” 

“Thank fuck,” Hermione breathed out. 

Draco arched a brow questioningly. 

“He’s free,” she replied. “He’s finally free. That’s what I was aiming for. That’s all I was aiming for.” 

There was a sudden ruckus and students scattered away from the path out of the Great Hall. An irate-looking McGonagall was leading an equally seething Severus through the hallway. She looked like the general, and he a cloaked and terrifying basilisk. Hermione certainly felt like that burning gaze could turn her to stone right now, and maybe do a couple other things. 

“Define diplomacy,” Severus hissed as she lead the brisk path out through the Great Hall. Hermione and company cowered away from them with the guilty looks of a party that was definitely just talking about their Potions Master’s attempted suicide by snake. 

Fortunately, neither seemed to notice anyone around them. “We have to give the paper’s owners time to accept or deny the suit,” she replied. “And then you can engage in all your wonderful little extra party tricks in retaliation for their shitslinging.” 

“Arson.” 

“Yes, Severus, that is what I was referring to.” She pushed brusquely out of the doors, as if the old wood was somehow complicit in the shitslinging. “And no immolating gingers again, Severus!” 

“Again?” Malfoy whispered. “Fuck, we gotta get the details behind this one, guys.” 

***

As it turned out, the details came to her. 

Draco gave Hermione the title of Designated Details Detainer, which she said was a shit acronym, and he just smiled and told her to “go get the D,” at which point Harry had made a noise that was a cross between a laugh and a sob and a drowning bag of cats. He’d been reading the articles, and noticed a few details that he knew Ginny must’ve added, and it had nearly broken him down again. Luna was skipping classes to comfort him along with Draco. 

Hermione bolted to her classroom.

First period was easy, since she was just talking to first years about the basics of potion equipment. At the end, she had a little extra time, so she opened up the floor for any questions, and discovered swiftly that most twelve-year-olds were actually awful to teach. 

Suddenly Severus’ attitude made so much more sense. 

“Miss Granger Miss Granger!” screamed a brunette boy in a Gryffindor uniform.

Ignoring the twitching in her eye, Hermione offered him a smile. “Inside voices, please. What is your question, mister…?”

“Twighallow,” he replied, and Hermione was half certain he was making that name up before she remembered there was a family called fucking ‘Longbottom’ in the wizarding world. “Is it true you’ve got a tattoo that says--” his voice lowered, as if scared, “--the m-word?” he whispered. 

Oh boy. “It’s not a tattoo, but yes,” Hermione replied.

“But my dad says that’s a bad word! Why’d’you got it?”

A couple other murmurs of agreement spread around the room. Hermione sighed, and pulled up her sleeve, all of the children gasping at the horrible wound. “Don’t touch it, but you can come look at it,” she offered. “It’s called a scar. People get scars when they’re hurt and their body’s trying to heal.” 

Twighallow gave her a very skeptical look. “That don’t look very well healed, Miss Granger.” 

“A very awful witch cut me with a nasty cursed blade,” she explained. 

“Why’d she do that?” blurted a Hufflepuff. 

“She was crazy! All Death Eaters were!” shouted a Slytherin. 

Hermione shook her head. “Not all Death Eaters were crazy,” she replied, hoping that she could get through to the kids. “Some of them were. Some Death Eaters were downright awful. But, sometimes people do very bad things because they’re worried that their families will get hurt if they don’t. I can say I’d do some pretty bad things to keep my mom and dad safe, and my friends. Wouldn’t you guys do that too?”

There was a general murmur of agreement. 

“Does that mean… Death Eaters are good?” a Gryffindor asked, scrunching up her nose. 

“They were very bad,” Hermione replied. “They hurt a lot of people. But sometimes people have the right…” She remembered that at this age everyone looked at her weird when she used the word ‘intention.’ “They want to do things for the right reasons, but if they do things without considering how they might hurt others, they’re still bad people.” 

A Slytherin quietly raised his hand. “So there can be people who do bad things for good reasons?”

Hermione nodded. “Yes. It’s not all cut and dry like in the stories or in the news,” she said. “Sure, some people were downright bad. But others--Professor Snape, for example--had the best reasons for doing some of the worst things.” 

There was a general nodding of what she hoped was agreement and understanding. Fuck it, if she’d been forced into the war at twelve, these kids could understand the moral issues behind it. 

The bell rang a moment later, and to her utter surprise, kids came over to hug and thank her as they left. The quiet Slytherin waited until the very end, and he came over puffy-eyed. 

“Thanks, Miss Granger,” he mumbled. “I’m sorry about your arm.” 

“You’re welcome. I hope I was helpful. Are you okay, Mr. …?”

“Black,” he said, hesitantly. He looked up at her, as if waiting for her anger. 

She just nodded. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Black.” 

“I think my auntie did that to you.” He was looking at her arm. 

“Bellatrix?” she asked, holding out her arm so he could see it. 

He shuddered, and nodded. Then he hesitated for a moment, looking at her, still with those scared wide eyes. “We’re not real Blacks,” he blurted out suddenly. “But my ma an’ pa--they fought for… for… You Know Who anyway. They said the rest ‘f the family wouldn’t ever talk to us again if they din’t.” He paused, rubbing at an eye, and Hermione grabbed a box of tissues to help him. He sniffled and took one. “Everybody’s been sayin’ that they’re evil an’ horrible an’ crazy. But they’re not! They’re my ma an’ pa and I just wish…” He trailed off, taking a big shuddering sob. Hermione opened her arms and he came in for the hug. 

“I’m sorry,” she told him. “A lot of people I know joined Tom’s army out of fear.”

He looked at her fearfully. “You… you can say his name?”

Hermione nodded. “I’ve always liked to call him by the name he was born with. Takes some of the scary out of him.” She smiled and winked. “My favorite name for him, though? Moldy Voldy.” 

The little Black giggled. “Moldy Voldy,” he said. “Moldy Voldy! It doesn’t even hurt to say it! Moldemort Voldemort!” His eyes gleamed with pre-tween rebellion. 

Oh god, what had she unleashed upon this earth?

“Exactly!” she told him, handing him a few more tissues. “I think my friend Harry would like you. Now, take these, and--” she paused to jot down a note “--this, so your next teacher won’t yell at you. Moldy Voldy is scary, and was awful, but we can learn from all the awful things he did, okay?”

“Okay!” He snatched the note and flung himself into another hug, before darting for the door. “Bye Miss Granger!”

After he was gone, Hermione sat and let herself tear up a little bit before she had to scourgify all the evidence prior to the next class. 

Second period, Severus was supposed to be teaching the second and third years today (Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs) but the little kiddies seemed quite relieved and enthusiastic to have her as their teacher. Which was endearing, really. He’d left her hurried lesson plans (“Wiggenweld, just fucking wing it they won’t get it right anyway”) and she had been moreso disappointed in his disparaging tone than in their length. 

Deciding that she was here to prove him wrong if only out of a desire to have students interested in Potions, Hermione spent the entire period absorbed in trying her best to get tweenagers to understand the best way to dispense salamander blood so they didn’t overload the potions immediately. By the end of the day, she had conjured a blackboard and written the sequence of colors, with little colorful swatches to indicate what the kids should aim for, and most of them were excitedly (and extremely carefully) adding boom berry juice when Pomfrey knocked on the door. 

Pomfrey stopped mid-stride, stumbled a little, and smiled widely when she saw Hermione teaching. “Hello, dear. I didn’t expect you to be teaching so soon!” She beamed at Hermione. “Where’s Severus? I need some of the severe burn ointment.” 

Hermione’s heart skipped a beat. “He’s out, madam,” she replied. “He and Minerva--er,” she cast a glance at the students, “Headmistress McGonagall left earlier quite, uh, quickly.” She leaned in a little, fiddling with her hands, and gave Poppy a concerned look that was genuine and not just because she was curious about what ginger Sev had set on fire the first time. “I know you… might not be able to tell me,” she tried, giving Pomfrey her widest and most worried eyes, “But what happened? I’m quite worried.” 

The nurse sighed, rolled her eyes, and leaned in conspiratorially. “Like them to leave you without an explanation, huh? Poor thing. Well, a certain-” her voice dropped to a whisper here “-Mr. Weasley decided to try and sneak up on Severus for a shot for the Daily Prophet. I don’t know what they’re paying Weasley, but I hope it’s worth getting lit on fire and thrown off the vestibule.” She shook her head. “I don’t know if Weasley startled him or if Severus was waiting to see if Weasley really would do it. Maybe both. Severus still reacts quite poorly to camera flashes.”

It was a bit of a relief, truly, that this was just Ron up to some dumbass shenanigans and not an injury to Ginny that Harry would blame himself for. Nodding in understanding, Hermione thought quickly. “I know where some burn cream might be. If you just hold here for a moment, make sure nobody blows anything up?” 

Poppy nodded, so Hermione turned to address the class, saying she was fetching something for Pomfrey and would be right back, and nobody do anything drastic until she was back. She hurried into her and Severus’ (well, mainly just Severus’) private lab, and rummaged around until she found some of the burn cream she’d been in the middle of packaging the night before. Grabbing what was in the crate, she tucked it under an arm and rummaged around in the shelves until she found a bottle of Severus’ extra-strength burn cream, the stuff that he’d used on Neville’s head after the Sorting Hat was set on fire. Then she headed back out. 

It was a relief that nobody had exploded in her absence. “Here, this is what I could find,” she told Pomfrey as she handed over the crate. “This burn ointment was from his reserve stock, so if he gets a little miffed about it, I’m sorry--I’ll take as much of the blame as I can. The rest was a batch I was halfway through packaging last night, the rest should be done by later today, once I’m done teaching.” 

“You’re an angel,” Pomfrey said with a sigh, taking the crate. “And don’t worry, dear, if he gets pissy at you for taking it I’ll give him a talking-to.” She beamed and left. 

By the end of the period, about half of the class had a decent-looking Wiggenweld Potion. Sure, their slicing technique wasn’t up to par, but the potion was all the right colors and she could tell from the smell that they’d brewed it correctly. Those who brewed it correctly were offered plenty of praise, and those that didn’t, she sat with and tried to help them understand where they’d gone wrong. 

The next period was fifth years. That was going to be fucking stressful. Sure, it didn’t have any of the sixth, seventh or eighth years (if Hermione had to teach Malfoy, she’d probably wring his neck) but they were at the age where they thought that pranking substitutes would be fun. 

Thankfully she had a lunch break to prepare. She was just going around and setting charms on all the desks when Harry stuck his head in the door. 

“Hey there, Professor,” he said with a grin. “How are the little monsters treating you?”

Hermione took a deep breath. “Um. It’s been a lot.” She laughed, and he laughed with her. 

“That’s answer enough. What’re the charms for?” 

“We’re making hair-raising potion today,” she explained, charming another desk. “If any ingredients not in the potion are placed on or near the desk, I will be promptly notified.”

Harry nodded knowingly. “Fifth years?”

“Yeah. Want to take lunch in here with me?”

“Sure.” He went over to the desk they always sat at during their potions lessons and sandwiches, courtesy of the house elves, appeared between them. Both of them shouted thanks. 

“I’ve already made one kid cry today,” she rambled off as she bit into the sandwich. “Given it was because I told him good people could do bad things, and apparently he’s a Black and his parents fought for Tom because of the threat of family ostricization.” 

“Tough. And sounds about right, for the Blacks.”

“He’s adorable. I think you’d like him. I taught him ‘Moldy Voldy’ and he practically ran through the halls yelling it.” 

“Oh I love him already.” Harry glanced towards the desk. “Think we can look at Snape’s rosters, see if we can figure out his name? I can find out if his parents are okay or not, maybe get ‘em out of Azkaban if they’re stuck in there.” 

Hermione hesitated, but went over, pulling out a list of names that Severus had left her. “Thuban Black,” she replied. 

“Got it. How were second and third years? You’ve got a full day.” 

“Better than I or Sev anticipated.” She held up the note he’d left, and Harry burst out laughing. “I got about half of them to give me decent wiggenwelds by the end of class. Some of the potions might even be functional. I think they enjoyed it.”

“Only you, Hermione, could get a bunch of thirteen year olds to brew fucking Wiggenweld and like it. Severus will be pissed that they only started using their brains when he wasn’t there.” 

Hermione cackled. “Oh, he’ll be so mad. I can’t wait.” 

“We spent all of these years terrified of him, and only now we find out his weakness!” Harry beamed at her with a mouth full of sandwich. “The smartest witch ever who also happens to be a pretty Gryffindor.” 

“Shh!” Hermione swatted his arm. “I’m almost certain he has wards to hear what’s going on in here when he’s gone. Oh, which reminds me--I found out which Weasley was set on fire.” 

Harry perked up, and she knew he was worried about Ginny. 

“Ron,” she said, and Harry tried not to look too relieved. “Apparently somebody in the Daily Prophet was paying him to snap a photo of Sev, and he tried to sneak up for it, and Sev lit him on fire and threw him into the courtyard.”

“Serves him right. He should know better by now. I mean, we’ve never been able to sneak up on Severus, even with the fucking invisibility cloak!” 

Hermione shrugged, gulping down the rest of her sandwich and returning to class preparation. “I’m not sorry either. You don’t sneak up on someone who’s got fucking PTSD, it’s just rude. Anyway, Pomfrey came by for the double-extra-strength burn salve, that’s how I found out.” 

“I hope it gives him something to think about, after how he treated you,” Harry muttered. 

“I hope it gives him something to think about, after how he’s treated all the women in his life.” 

They chatted for the rest of lunch about the current state of the DADA curriculum (“I’ll shove Forwit’s ‘curriculum’ down his throat and make him gargle it”), how to best get away with murdering their DADA teacher (“Think we could get your Potions boytoy to help?”), and how unfortunate it was that the position was no longer cursed (“We might just have to go with good old fashioned murder this time”). By the time the lunch period was over, it had been decided that if Hermione was going to get in the habit of seducing some of the most powerful wizards in the world, she had better use them properly, for the murder of irritating DADA professors. 

Harry left with a wave, and Hermione pondered the fact that if her ‘Potions boytoy’ did indeed have a listening ward around his classroom, he was going to have a hell of a time getting through that conversation. 

And possibly reason to discharge her from her apprenticeship, with a few of the actions that she’d insinuated being willing to take. 

Class with the fifth years started off well enough, as they seemed pretty receptive despite a triad of boys that she quickly picked out as Gryffindor troublemakers. They were whispering and snickering while she was talking, and to her surprise, it actually kind of hurt. Brushing it off, she continued with her lesson. 

As expected, their table triggered her charm, indicating they had taken the wrong ingredients. As she walked through the room, inspecting the potions and helping the students where she could, she surreptitiously watched what they were doing and what they were adding. 

It looked based around the hair-raising potion, but one of them had misidentified ingredients--swapping out echidna quills for porcupine--and all three of them had grabbed a few ingredients that weren’t even vaguely related. Powdered goat horn, she thought she noticed, and a heart of some kind. Too small to be crocodile or even caiman, so maybe something like chicken. 

… If they took some of Sev’s more expensive reagents, she was going to force them into hard labor until they sweated out enough salt to pay for the ingredients. 

Okay, maybe Sev was getting to her a little too much. 

Everyone else’s cauldrons were looking good, and she was actually pretty pleased about it, so she spent most of the time complimenting and assisting the other students, while waiting for the three to make their move or fuck up irreparably. To her great gratification, the other students--the ones actually trying--were absolute sweethearts who were responding very well to her. 

It was fifteen minutes before the period was up when the first of the boys came over with his cauldron to where she was sitting on Severus’ desk. Severus would probably not approve of the place that she’d decided to park her behind, but her feet were tired and she liked sitting on tables. She crossed her ankles demurely. 

The students came up to her to submit their potions. She thanked them, complimented where appropriate, and made sure each vial was meticulously labeled with a name and year. She idly messed with her wand as the troublemakers approached, giving the approach of boredom rather than readiness. 

“Miss Granger, is this potion correct?” This was the one with the echidna quills. He was holding the vial out for her to inspect with a wicked smile. 

Her protego was instinctive and far faster than an exploding potion. In a moment, the three troublemakers were surrounded in a magical shield that effectively isolated them from the rest of their peers, and a snap of her fingers triggered the latent energies in the other two tampered vials. 

In a moment, green smoke puffed out of the three vials and surrounded them, visibly constrained by her protego. They started with coughing, as their hairs all stood on end and began to vibrate chaotically. Their eyes bulged, and she wasn’t sure if it was a side effect or--oh, it was just pain. They started to scream as boils erupted from their skin, exploding into masses of hair, as their skin turned a hideous shade of jaundice. 

“And this, class,” Hermione said with her widest, sweetest smile, “Is a perfect demonstration of why we don’t play around in potions.” She recalled Snape’s first words on their introductory potions class so long ago. “You can learn how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even stopper death--or fuck yourself up so terribly that you’d wish you were never born.” 

Okay, Slytherin gloating over. She twirled her wand, and all three vials of noxious stuff vanished. A moment later, she lowered her protego, using a whirlwind charm to control the gases into a small sphere of air, which she similarly vanished with a bright pop! It almost sounded like a bubble being popped.

“Just mind the mess,” Hermione instructed the rest of the students, receiving the few remaining potions. Once they were resolved, she realized that the students were hovering nervously about the room still. 

What were they waiting for? Were they waiting for her to deal with the injured? Ugh. She probably should. Hermione plastered on another sweet smile and hopped down from Severus’ desk, which she’d been sitting on the entire time. “Now, how the bloody hell am I going to get you to the infirmary?” she asked the three moaning lumps of Gryffindor. 

“Miss Granger, what have I told you about littering?” 

Oh, that’s what they were waiting for. How long had Sev been standing there, watching her? Her heart took a tumble against her ribs. She looked up, beaming at him. “Professor! You’re back!” Despite her best attempts, she couldn’t keep the happiness from her voice. 

“Indeed.” He came over to stand by her, leaning over to rumble in that low baritone voice, “Inspired words, Miss Granger. I quite like your twist on them.” So he’d been watching probably since her confrontation with the troublemakers. Accursed man. His breath was warm against her neck and her skin screamed to be bitten, kissed, tasted, anything. 

Withdrawing, he arched a brow, and she silently yelled for him to get back here. Instead he just asked, “What’d these three try?”

Hermione swallowed, having to pretend like she didn’t just want to snog her professor. This was fine. Back to business. (Evil, that’s what he was.) “Added goat horn and some sort of heart--chicken, I believe, given the size and the reactions--to hair-raising. Oh, and one of them swapped out echidna quills for porcupine, but I believe that was on accident.” She shrugged with a bright smile. “I can get them to the infirmary, if you’d like. Oh--that reminds me, Pomfrey came by and I rooted around until I found some of your double extra strong burn salve that she needed. I marked where I took it from with a note.” 

“Clever girl.” Severus went around behind the desk and dropped his briefcase on it--he had a briefcase? What the fuck?--and sighed. “Well, I suppose we should clean up the mess now.”

Dispassionately, Hermione stared down at the three troublemakers. “I’m surprised by how fine I am with letting them just suffer there,” she remarked. A glance around the room told her that the kids had disappeared quickly--presumably once Severus had stopped guarding the room’s entrance, they’d decided to make a break for it. 

“Trust me, Granger, it gets easier.” A flick of his hand, and the three levitated into the air. Their skin made disgusting squelching sounds as it was lifted from the tile. “I’ll bring them to Poppy--I need to see what she needed the burn salve for.”

“My ex-boyfriend that you immolated this morning, I expect.” 

“Mm.” Severus just arched a brow at her and walked from the room, the three victims floating after him. 

Hermione cast a few charms to scrub the floors clean, content that Severus would punish them sufficiently. Once that was done, she took a little bit to clean up after the students, then ensured that all the sample potions were correctly labeled with the kids that had submitted them. It would do no good for her to mess up her first day TAing for Severus. 

After a moment’s hesitation, she checked that no one was around, and then quickly transfigured her shoes into kitten heels. Maybe she was crazy. But maybe she wanted Severus to react to her the same way she’d reacted to him. Sure, a little heel wouldn’t be enough to be considered brazenly inappropriate or breaking dress code, but she knew what the support of heels could do. Even four or five centimeters would turn her rather lackluster ass into something more shapely. 

Fuck. Was she actually considering seducing Severus Snape?


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... ok i slept so TECHNICALLY it's a new day for me, which means another chapter. ;D Or, if we're being honest, because I'm a fucking sucker for praise. 
> 
> Also, if you're interested--check out my other fic! SS/HG Marriage Law. <3 It won't be updating as regularly as this one, at least not until this one is finished, but I hope you guys enjoy it nonetheless!

Granger’s ex-boyfriend Severus had immolated this morning definitely still looked very immolated. 

Severus stared down at him as Poppy checked his vitals. “He looks fine,” Severus told her. 

“Severus, he has open burns and a broken leg.”

A little turn of phrase that had niggled doubt at him for years came back to him. When he opened his mouth, he didn’t mean for it to come out, but he definitely didn’t try to hold it back. “I see no difference.” 

Poppy lightly swatted his arm, rolling her eyes. “You are incorrigible. Now, remember to not yell at sweet little Hermione, she was doing what I asked of her.”

“The girl left a bloody note where she took the potion from, Poppy. I’m surprised she didn’t leave a note when she fucking stole from me. There is no person better qualified to rummage around my laboratories.” 

“Aww, Severus! I think you’re going soft.” 

“Oh, by the way, I brought a trio of boys that tried to explode potions on Granger’s face this afternoon. She let them get caught in their own potions’ backfire. I think their skin might be dissolving.”

Poppy looked over and beamed at him like he’d just announced he’d gotten engaged. “You two are perfect for each other,” she gushed. 

“Pomfrey, shut up. I don’t want the ginger one-” Well, given the current outlook, that might not be true much longer “-or ex-ginger now-bald one to be making Granger’s life more hellish.”

Poppy reached up and pinched Severus’ cheek, to which he hissed and spat. It did not have an effect. “It’s okay, Severus. He’s on so many drugs he can’t tell what way’s up or down.” She turned. “Hey, Ronald dear, how are you feeling?”

Ronald was silent for a long moment. _“...Circle,”_ he said at last, definitively, nodding as if he were absolutely certain of himself. 

“I still see no difference.” 

“Oh, go back to your dungeon, you great softhearted bat,” Poppy told him. 

Severus did. 

He returned to his classroom to find Hermione bent over a desk, tongue sticking out a little bit, as she scribbled down… something. He paused to watch her. She’d ditched the robe and was now just in a button-up and her skirt, neither of which did anything to hide the curves or the legs or the delectably golden skin. 

Fuck. Were those heels? Why the fuck was Hermione Granger wearing heels? They weren’t tall heels, just little kitten heels, but they were… present. Definitely present. And so was his erection, as it happened. Had the skirts always been that short? No, that was definitely a fairly long skirt, he was just a dirty old lecher who desperately wanted to kiss the brightest witch of his age. Right. 

But fuck, she was pretty. And she was wicked. He’d watched how innocently and demurely she sat at, or rather on his desk, with her ankles crossed and murmuring sweet little compliments to all of the students that treated her well. Then those three troublemakers came for her, and with that perfect sweet smile still in place, she had just turned their pranks back on them. 

He needed to stop, before his singularly stellar pupil noticed the fact that he was definitely eyefucking her. 

Adjusting his robes to hide the evidence of his activity, Severus strode in and quickly took a seat at his chair. “How’d the day go?”

“Actually really well.” She sounded surprised. 

He arched a brow. “Even the fifth years? I was… concerned, given my sudden absence, and given how close they are to you in age.”

She shrugged. “I mean, you saw the worst of it.” She grinned and glanced over her shoulder at the floor. The pose gave him a very good view of the curve of her ass, and Severus quietly thought that maybe he ought to go through with throwing himself off a parapet. “The rest were absolute dears. I think you’ve put the fear of Severus into them.” 

He huffed out a laugh. “What are--” He frowned at the line of wiggenwelds. “Hermione, why are there so many?”

“Oh, they actually really enjoyed it!” She beamed at him. “I had this little game where I conjured a board and they had to match the colors to what was up on the board and they were having a great time.” She picked up a potion, swirled it around, and held it up to the light. “Their cutting technique leaves something to be desired, a lot of these ingredients are not finely sliced enough, but I think a couple of these might actually work, and that was more than you lead me to believe was possible.” 

“It was more than **_I_** was lead to believe was possible,” Severus grumbled, trying to not sound too jealous. Of course the precious Gryffindor lioness worked her magic on the students, that’s what his apprentice was best at--magic of all types. He was very proud. 

She reached out and patted his hand, and it felt a lot like consolation for an injury. “Don’t pout, Sev. They still love you more than me.” 

He burst out laughing, his own amusement furthered by the fact that she seemed to believe it. “Don’t be ridiculous. How were the first years?”

“Oh, fine.” She shrugged, worrying at her lip for a moment.

He squinted at her. “What happened?”

Hermione looked at him, all innocence. “Nothing!”

He arched a brow and leaned forward, propping his chin on a palm. She wouldn’t be messing with that lip of hers if something wasn’t going on. “You’re easy to read, Granger.” 

It was her turn to pout. “I’m not that easy, you’re just stupidly observant. It honestly was nothing,” she sighed. “I gave them time to ask questions-” she rolled her eyes at his scoff “-and no, it wasn’t a mistake. Someone asked about my… the scar on my arm, and the class talked about the war.”

“Did one of them say something mind-numbingly insensitive?”

She laughed. “No, not at all, really. One of them came up to thank me after class. He was, uh, a Black? Fuck, what was his name… Thuban!” Her eyes turned distant, and she smiled towards the door, like she was remembering the kid. “He said that everyone was calling his parents evil and insane and wouldn’t believe him when he said they only joined up with Tom because they were afraid of family repercussions.” She hugged her arm close to her, still smiling a little. “I just said that sometimes good people can end up doing bad things because of those they love.” 

Severus arched a brow. She clearly wasn’t fabricating it, and that made it… well, if she was going to try and apply those ideals to him, she was going to have a much harder time of things. “How romantic,” he drawled. “The Gryffindor princess’ idealism strikes again.” 

“Humor me, then. What would’ve happened if you hadn’t been acting as our double agent?” She tilted her head to the side.

Severus glanced up at her. “Do you want the honest answer?”

She nodded. 

“We all would’ve died wonderful, inglorious deaths, and Tom would’ve gone on to wreak havoc across the world, and muggles everywhere would be dying in terrible, unforgivable ways.” He knew of the ways. He knew of the poisons Tom had asked him to develop. Something churned in his stomach. “You would be breeding stock, since you were so highly magical. I expect your parents would’ve been dissected in a million different ways in an attempt to discover how they, muggles, created something so beautifully gifted.” Fuck, that was not the way he wanted to phrase things. Her proximity was getting to him. “If I had been on his side, Tom would’ve probably given me a small fiefdom for my good service, and murdered me. Maybe not in that order.” He shut his eyes. “And there would never again be a place for a bright-eyed bushy-haired little Gryffindor know-it-all in any magical school.”

“You’re being broad,” she murmured. “At each juncture. Tell me how things would’ve gone, if you had blown your cover to save us.” 

He pinched his nose. “There are too many to count.”

“Mmhmm,” she said with a smile that was only a smidge smug. “That’s what I thought. There was nothing you could’ve done, Severus. You did your best and you went through hell for it.” 

“I was a right git.”

She leaned in with a smile, and whispered conspiratorially, “Still are, sometimes.” She withdrew and smiled at him with such a fondness he wondered if he was actually dreaming. “Regardless of your git-itude, you were instrumental. The muggles have a term for this, which I think works well: survivor’s guilt.” 

“Know-it-all.” 

She shrugged. “It’s my worst quality.”

“Nonsense.” 

“You’re dodging my point, Severus.” 

He shot a glance to the side. He was hoping she didn’t notice that. 

“You couldn’t have changed anything, Sev. You did the best you could, and your temperament does not erase your achievements. None of this was your fault.” 

Hermione turned to look at him, and he searched her gaze for any iota of pity. None was to be found. Just something warm and welcoming and entirely too beautiful for him to touch and ruin. She glanced away, and hopped back up onto his desk, and she now eclipsed the lights of the classroom. Turning to face him, she folded one of her legs under her, letting the other one dangle off the desk. 

His throat went very dry, almost as dry as the time he got murdered by a snake and couldn’t drink fluids for weeks. She was a vision in gold, with her curves served up practically on a platter for him to admire. The skirt did not do nearly enough to cover her flesh, and with the light coming in behind her, he could see every exquisite curve of her body through the damnably flimsy white button-up. The tie, Gryffindor maroon and gold, taunted him as it swung down and trailed along his desk. 

Her hair was still up from the Ministry Ball the night before, although it was much messier now, and there was a cloud of stray hairs. The light coming from behind her made them sear with gold, like filaments of the sun. 

Third time he’d seen an angel, he decided. 

She reached out and her fingers buried themselves in his hair. To his surprise, it felt… immeasurably wonderful. The whole place suddenly seemed sunny and warm and she was gently massaging his scalp, working through his hair with her entire hand, and it made him want to curl up against her and go to sleep. 

“How was arson?” she asked quietly. 

“Minerva wouldn’t let me,” he openly pouted. “We are suing the Daily Prophet, though, for insinuations of staff impropriety with a student.” 

“Hmm. That’s good. About time someone takes that paper down.” 

Severus closed his eyes and a different vision came to him. The two of them, relaxing in a sunlit sitting room, filled to the brim and then some with books. He had a book in one hand, the other arm was curled around her with his hand resting on her stomach, pulling her against him. Something about the protective way his hand settled on her stomach touched on a deeper, more confusing desire, so he ignored it to enjoy the rest of the sights. 

Hermione was dressed in the same outfit she’d worn at his trial, with her hair like it had been the night before for the Ministry ball, an elegant French twist. She was older, but not by much, and her spark was unassailed by the realities of politics, asking him about his day. Her hand continued to massage his scalp, but now it had a ring, a simple and elegant wedding ring. Black diamond, flanked by jade, on pale gold. Probably something from the Prince archives. The fantasy version of her was the Minister for Magic, and he didn’t decide that--he knew it instinctively. Her legs were on his lap. 

She’d just gotten home. He’d been reading that afternoon, and so she just sat down next to him, and they cuddled in companionable silence.

‘How was work?’ he’d ask her after a while, leaning his head towards her hand and relaxing into the soothing circles of her fingers.

‘Tiring,’ she’d say, ‘But we’re making progress.’ Of course she was, his wife was stubborn. He smiled. She smelled of honey and cinnamon and parchment--an Amortentia blend. 

“Dinner’s on the table,” he told her in his head.

“It can wait.” Her head nestled against his shoulder in the dream. Her voice was honey, still, and her golden eyes trailed along his jawline. “Let’s just stay here, for a little bit longer.” 

Merlin, it felt so real she could’ve said it aloud. 

One eye cracked open, and he frowned. Actually, he… might’ve. He might’ve said the dinner thing out loud. That would… explain how loud and real her replies sounded. 

“What’s wrong, Sev?” she asked, and he could see the older Hermione looking at him with the same consternation, drawing closer, tilting his chin to look at her. 

Too dangerous. Too risky. Too easy to destroy. 

Severus got up, and without hesitation or a look backwards, grabbed his briefcase and disappeared into his quarters. 

***

Fucking hell this man was testing Hermione’s nerves. 

Or more accurately, her ability to sit and wait while he got his shit together enough to ravish her completely. 

_Curse you, Severus, and your extremely valid and understandable trauma due to past relationships._ She pouted for a moment as she stared at the door to his quarters. He wasn’t coming back, and she doubted he’d even show up for dinner. 

If Hermione had needed a further confirmation of Severus’ affections (and she had, despite everyone’s yelling), this was it. The way he’d looked at her, the simple manner in which he’d relaxed when she touched him. He’d leaned into her hand. The creases on his face had vanished. His eyes had closed. His eyes had fucking closed! She knew better than most that Severus was not keen to let his guard down, ever, in front of anyone. 

And if that shit about dinner wasn’t some fantasy that he had immediately sunk into, she didn’t know what else it meant. 

It was dinner. It wasn’t “come fuck me, Hermione,” or “what, don’t you LIKE that sort of thing?” (Both of those were Ron lines.) Or even “we’ll get down to business after dinner.” (That wasn’t a Ron line, he didn’t wait.) She certainly wanted to fuck Sev, but his fantasy had not immediately contained the prospect of sex. Strange that the one time Hermione would’ve enjoyed being propositioned, the person intentioned hadn’t had it on his mind. Not that she minded! It was something more. And it had relaxed him well beyond anything she’d seen since he was… well, dead. 

Severus was a wizard of great control. She’d seen him nearly lose it, several times, throughout their acquaintanceship, and for several different reasons. But this was the one time that she had seen him actually relinquish control, even if only for a moment, and it had been almost as if he’d willingly given it to her. 

She wanted to leave something. Something subtle, something he would never ever notice but still something that would mark her presence. Her success, at infiltrating his world, at getting him to relax. 

Hermione bit her lip, reached up, and pulled out a single strand of her hair. She left it where she’d been sitting. It shone golden against the dark, foreboding wood of his desk. Appropriate, really. 

Also someone could use it for a Polyjuice potion. Fuck. Hermione slipped out her wand and carefully charmed the hair. The charm destroyed all abilities for the hair to be used in a magical setting, before disappearing itself. There. Now her foolishness was complete and nobody could ever accuse her of it. If Severus found it, he couldn’t be angry, because everybody shed hair. 

...He could be angry because it was clearly tampered with, destroying its magical use, and that meant she’d at least noticed it dropping. However, she doubted he would be able to figure out her motives enough to confront her about it. 

A small part of her hoped that he noticed it, and noticed her obvious tampering, because that would probably confuse the shit out of him and she enjoyed that concept immensely. Before she could think too hard about it, Hermione stood up, glancing around to make sure that the room was cleaned up to his high standards. Then, grabbing her bag and robes, she hurried off. 

Dinner wasn’t going to be ready for a while, and for once, Hermione didn’t feel like burying herself in a book or running to tell Harry about what had just happened. Harry and Draco would tease her, and it would be out of love and she loved them, but this moment still felt too raw and intimate to share with such a snarky audience. 

Instead, she grabbed some raw meat and headed out to feed the thestrals. 

Today it was the lead mare, and wanting to talk and not worry about her fingertips getting destroyed, Hermione just set the raw meat out and let the mare take her time. It was chilly out, and she quickly transfigured her clothes into something more important--wool stockings and a thicker jacket, with a warming charm not long after--before she sat down in the frosty grass. 

“How do you know if someone’s in love with you?” she asked. 

The mare continued eating, absolutely not paying attention, her wings shuffling. 

“How do you know if you’re in love?” Hermione searched the mare for a response. There was none forthcoming, which was exactly as expected and intended. 

“I assume that the whole ‘love’ shit is real, if it’s real enough to accidentally create a horcrux,” she murmured, reaching out and patting the mare’s forelock. One ear flicked, but otherwise the mare didn’t mind. A thought came to her, and she laughed. “I bet there’s a book about it.” 

That would be what she’d do. Seek comfort and knowledge in a book. 

“That’d be wrong,” she decided. The mare neither approved nor disapproved. “No silly spells about finding true love or soul mates. That’s too close to a binding. That’s what we’re trying to avoid.” 

Hermione heard the footsteps approaching before she said something equally foolish out loud. 

“Hermione.”

Ginny.

“What are you doing out here?” Ginny asked. 

Hermione glanced over, and pointed at the thestral and rapidly vanishing raw meat. “Feeding the thestrals,” she said. “It’s calming. How are you?”

“Been better,” Ginny sighed, coming over. “Do you… mind if I sit?”

“Not at all,” Hermione said with a smile. “Cast a warming and drying charm, though, the grass is a little frosty.” 

Ginny offered a smile that looked entirely too pinched and too unnatural. She glanced back towards the castle, as if she was expecting some horrible pursuer to come swooping down. “Listen,” she said, quietly and urgently. “First of all, I'm sorry. To you and to Harry. I know I hurt Harry. I know I said shit I absolutely should not have said, and I know he’ll probably never forgive me.” Hermione opened her mouth to contest that, but Ginny held up a finger and ploughed forward. “Just. Okay. I was really upset, right? That doesn’t excuse it at all. But I need... I need to get this out. What I’m saying is…” 

She shut her eyes, and Hermione was surprised to find tears on her cheeks. 

“I was thinking about what he was saying and I know my first reaction was disgust, but honestly, I--I think that’s… that’s coming from me.” She pointed emphatically at her chest. “Do you know what I mean?” Her eyes were begging for understanding. "It's not, truly, about Harry. I was taking it out on him. It's my confusion."

Hermione paused, the realization dawning on her. “Ginny, are you saying…?”

Ginny nodded. “Yes. Yes. I’m--I love Harry, more than anything else in the world, but I don’t think I love him that way. I think I might--” She shut her eyes, hesitated. “I think I’m a lesbian, Hermione.” 

Hermione reached out and took Ginny’s hand, pulling her into a hug. Ginny sobbed against her shoulder. “Hey, it’s okay,” Hermione murmured. “I’m… I’m pansexual, if it helps.”

“It does. A little.” Ginny sniffled into her shoulder. “God, I feel like I’ve fucked everything up with my closest friends just because I couldn’t acknowledge that I… that my mother has been planting this in me. You know how I hated Fleur? Called her Phlegm?”

“Yeah.”

“She was just so fucking pretty,” Ginny murmured. “I thought that was jealousy, I really did, but I’m not so certain it was just jealousy anymore.” Ginny pulled away, searching Hermione’s face desperately. “Do you think Harry will forgive me? Or--oh, Merlin, do you think he’d think that our relationship was all a joke to me? I--”

Hermione shook her head. “He’s so worried about you, Ginny,” she said. “He just desperately wants you to be happy. Do you think you’d be okay with talking to him now? I’m sure it would work out a lot for you both.” 

Ginny paused, then set her jaw and nodded. “Yes. Yes, I need to talk to him now. I need to apologize. Harry deserves so many more apologies than I can ever make. And it needs to be done soon. Before Ron gets out of the infirmary. Ron’s been the one talking to mum the most, the one she’s been using to control me. He’s a sweetie, he’s just… he’s so stupid sometimes. A real Outstanding-class dunderhead.” 

Hermione snorted a laugh, then stood up and offered a hand. “Come on, Ginny, let’s go sort this mess out.” 

“You’re the best, Hermione, you know that?” Ginny hugged her tight. “I love you. I’m so sorry for everything. I’m an idiot, and I don’t deserve you or Harry. And I’m still pretty sure I don’t want in your pants.”

“Ginny, don’t be so harsh on yourself. It can be a lot to handle.” Hermione pulled her tight into a hug. “I love you too, in a completely gay but utterly nonsexual way,” Hermione assured her. Ginny laughed, her laughter mixing with sobs as Hermione lead her back towards the castle. 

As it turned out, Ginny’s talk with Harry cleared up a lot.

Suddenly the tension was gone from the air. The four of them--Hermione, Harry, Draco, Ginny--were just eating and laughing together, like it was the most natural thing in the world. There had been lots of tearful apologies between many parties, and as they munched on the chocolate truffles Draco had pulled out of seemingly nowhere, Ginny continued to explain. 

“I really miss you guys,” she said. “I’ve felt so alone, so isolated. I’m so sorry for everything. I know I said it a lot but I really am. But mom is absolutely adamant that I have nothing to do with Harry now that she believes he’s dating Draco, and Ron keeps reporting back to her. And the _Prophet._ I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean… I just was crying and only had Ron to go to, and I guess he told Skeeter. It was fucking dumb of me. I’m pretty concerned about both Ron and mom… He seems really wrapped up in revenge, and I’ve never seen him this way. I’ll do my best to warn you guys when I can.” Ginny looked seriously disturbed before Draco interrupted the moment. 

“Well, thank goodness Hermione’s potions boytoy lit Ron on fire.” Draco grinned like the little shit he was. 

“Draco, be nice!” Harry rolled his eyes. 

Ginny just laughed. “Ron deserved it. Idiot.” 

“At long last, Ginerva, we agree on something,” Draco retorted smoothly. 

It had been very funny to watch Ginny get used to the new, snarky Draco. Now she was sassing him back without fear. “I should’ve guessed that as soon as you got food back in you, the snark machine was the first thing you fired up. Strange priorities, Malfoy.” Ginny beamed at him. 

“Oh, you’re clever. I like you.” Draco wiggled a finger at her. “If you ever want to play Little Miss Rebellious Weasley, I’m taking Luna and Hermione and myself to one of the top-end salons in Diagon--it’s called Beautifique, you might’ve heard of it--the day of the Yuletide ball. You’re welcome to come. Everything will be going on my tab.” 

Ginny’s eyes blazed with the prospect of a shopping buddy. “And when do you plan on getting your robes?” 

“This weekend. Saturday, we’re starting at eight promptly, so we can hit all the boutiques. I’ll send Harry to rouse you.”

Ginny held out a hand, which Draco vigorously shook. “Draco Malfoy, I think you may have just become one of my best friends.” 

“Wait,” Hermione said. “You’re taking me where?”

“I’ve created a monster,” Harry whispered, staring mournfully into the distance. 

Draco paused with Ginny’s hand still grasped firmly. “And Ginerva--do you like Ginny or Ginerva? Ginny? Alright. Ginny, take it from a guy with absolute shithole parents: don’t be afraid to distance yourself from family. They can’t dictate who you are forever. You can love them and still know they’re wrong about what’s best for you. Sometimes, distance is the best way to keep yourself safe.” 

***

Severus waited until he heard the door shut after Hermione. A scan of his wards indicated the room was empty. 

Locking the door behind her, he finally slipped out from his office, returning to his desk. The place still smelled of her, and--was that a hair? Was Granger shedding all over his classroom? She was lucky that didn’t contaminate something. Severus certainly didn’t want to throw it out, that felt like discarding part of her, which was entirely wrong. However, keeping it somewhere else just felt… creepy. So he left it. 

In an attempt to calm down, Severus took a deep breath. It didn’t work. All he got was more scent of Granger, sending his nervous system into a dizzying spin. 

He wasn’t going to be able to grade the potions this way. If he tried to smell them for ingredients, he’d probably just end up smelling Granger and giving everyone Os. And that certainly was not appropriate. (Especially considering he’d never given her an O, purely out of spite.) 

A quick trip through a few doors (classroom to office, office to quarters, quarters to hallway, hallway to stairs) brought him up by the gallery of portraits. It wasn’t that Severus was looking for Albus, he didn’t even know what he’d say to the man, but there certainly wasn’t anyone else he could talk to. 

Severus sat down on a bench in a deserted hallway, across from a landscape of a field, which had been vacated by its normal occupant. If Albus was paying any attention, he’d show up. 

It didn’t take long before the older wizard appeared in the painting, sitting down on a rock beneath the solitary tree in the picture. 

Albus was silent for a moment before he spoke. “She’s right, you know.” 

Severus rolled his eyes, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “She’s always bloody right, Albus, that’s her-” he waved a hand in the air as he searched for the words “-knowing everything is as natural to her as breathing.” 

The Headmaster twinkled. Severus glared openly at the expression. “Not just from books anymore, Severus?” he asked. 

“No. Beyond them, now.”

Another long pause. “What did you see, when you closed your eyes?”

So the old bint was listening in. Of course he was. He was probably outside the open door of the classroom, sticking his nose where it didn’t belong. Albus had always been an eavesdropper.

Severus shrugged. “A sitting room. Books.” 

“And her.” 

It wasn’t a question, so he didn’t answer it. 

“How long has it been since you closed your eyes around someone, Severus?”

He scoffed. “How long have I been alive?”

Another long pause stretched between them, and then Albus said, “Cast your patronus.”

Severus felt something in his core tighten. “No.” 

“Why not? Afraid of what you might find?”

That wasn’t a question either, even if Albus phrased it was one. “It was a raven a few weeks ago,” Severus said. “Has been since the day Tom passed. And for now it will remain a raven.” At least until he cast it next, when it would’ve undoubtedly changed once more. 

“But you acknowledge it’s changed. So why don’t you acknowledge you, yourself, have changed?”

“Maybe I have. But certain truths are constant.” Like, the fact that he didn’t get nice things. “I am still… complicit.” Nowadays, that word hung over him like the sword of Damocles. 

“That, too, can be changed.” 

“I am twice her age, Albus. All your wordplay cannot alter that.”

“And yet you sought my counsel nonetheless.” 

“Yes!” Severus exploded. “Because I fucking need someone to talk me down from this--this foolishness, before I hurt someone!” 

Albus chuckled and twinkled. Severus really was going to take turpentine to him one of these days. “I don’t think I can help you there, old friend. I think that you deserve this. And besides,” Albus cocked an eyebrow as he asked, “Do you really think I could sway her from pursuing you? I’m not a miracle worker, Severus, and you’re going to need a hell of a miracle to stop Hermione Granger from getting what she wants.” 

Severus didn’t reply. The two of them sat there, in silence, for another half an hour before Severus got up wordlessly and left.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the later update today! As an apology I'll be double updating, so stay tuned for the next chapter soon. 💚

“Alright. So the plan is, we’re going to be definitely purchasing for the Yuletide Ball today,” Draco announced as he lead the excursion out of Hogwarts and towards Hogsmeade, where they’d Floo to Diagon. “And we’ll also be looking for outfits for this New Year’s Eve party.”

Hermione’s stomach cinched tight. Even with Harry’s wallet full of offers and coupons at her disposal, she had to watch her spending. Harry caught her eye and offered a smile. 

The Boy Who Lived was now the Boy Who Was Carrying All Of The Bags, And The Wallet Of Coupons. 

“It’s going to be Roaring Twenties themed,” Draco went on as they entered Hogshead and headed towards the Floo. “At this darling little gay bar in Diagon that Harry told me about. It’ll be a good time to relax before we head back into academia, or whatever the fuck Hermione and Harry are doing.” He took a pinch of powder. “Luna, you’re going to be absolutely perfect for a flapper dress, and I have some wonderful ideas for Hermione’s hair. Now, Diagon Alley!” He threw the powder, and gestured for all of them to go through. 

They emerged in Diagon and Hermione fell to the back of the squadron with Harry, content to let Draco lead. He had all of the boutiques memorized, with opening and closing times, too.

“You going to be okay?”

Hermione nodded, pressing her lips together. “Yeah, I’ll figure something out. It’s… not as bad, now, since I’m making the memory restoration potion for my apprenticeship, so some of the ingredient costs will be covered there. I just worry, you know?”

“Will you please let me help you with one of the dresses?” Harry asked. “Consider it an early Christmas present or something, I don’t know.” Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but Harry barreled onwards. “And before you ask, yes, I’m absolutely certain, and yes, I think it would be very appropriate to use some of my parents’ savings to help a beloved sister enjoy herself a little.”

“Harry, I’d feel awful.” 

“Don’t! Early Christmas present, remember?”

Hermione sighed and hugged him tight to her side. “Thanks. Hopefully it won’t come to that, with my infinite discounts as the sister of the Boy Who Received Way Too Many Coupons.” 

“Keep up, Potter, Granger!” yelled Draco from the front of their group, before he lead the way up to a boutique entrance. 

“Fucking hell,” Harry muttered. “Do those… things even count as dresses?”

“Very, very expensive ones,” Hermione replied to him before heading into the store. 

It was well after their allotted lunch break before Hermione managed to find a dress she liked. It was a two-tone strapless gazar gown, tight in the corset but with plenty of space to move in the legs. Black and ivory fabric were draped around her body, billowing away in a train in the back. The ivory was the color of aged parchment. It was as if someone had taken a book and wrapped it around her, and the pages were falling away to reveal alternating ivory and black gazar. 

The black fabric was unadorned, but the ivory was charmed to look like roses were always being painted on to it, as if with a quill and india ink, before they disappeared and regrew. After stepping from the dressing room, Hermione paused in front of the triad of mirrors arranged in a semicircle, twirling. She watched the painted roses fall off of the fabric as new ones blossomed, drawn by an invisible hand. 

She turned to find Ginny and Draco beaming at her. 

“Someone finally made a book you can wear, Hermione!” Ginny bounced on the balls of her toes, clapping her hands together. 

“It’s perfect for Granger,” Draco agreed, and gave her a sly wink. “Elegant and graceful. It will certainly attract scholarly types.”

Harry, from his spot beneath the growing pile of bags, gave her a thumbs up and then fumbled for his wallet. 

Hermione changed out and paid for her dress. It was thankfully nonfatal to her bank account, as between the Malfoy family’s “frequent flier” account and Harry’s coupons, the dress was knocked down to a reasonable price. That was true for Luna’s dress, but Ginny’s was surreptitiously paid for in its entirety by Draco. (Apparently while people were trying on gowns, he’d gone over and put down as much as would be necessary to cover whatever Ginny chose. Sneaky bastard.) 

***

Another long day of teaching. Severus had noticed that the kids were significantly more respectful now that he was a war hero, but maybe it was just because he wasn’t as grouchy. They still hated his class, they still hated him, and he still hated them. 

He just wanted to get the day’s bleeding classes over with so he could go and brew with Hermione. When he at long last glared the last child out of his classroom, he let out a very long sigh and went through his office and into their shared experimentation lab. 

“Hey!” She smiled at him. Curse her and her smile that automatically made things slightly easier to bear. “How were classes?”

“How do you think?” He sank into one of the two armchairs at the fire, pulling off his outer robes and unbuttoning the first couple of buttons at his neck. It was so nice to let Nagini’s scar breathe. Today, especially, the thing had been extra pissy. He winced a little as he pulled away the fabric to let it breathe. 

“Sev, are you alright?”

“Perfectly fine,” he snapped, which translated out of greasy git as ‘no.’ 

Hermione seemed to understand that. She set a timer for her cauldron, then stuck her wand through her belt and hurried over to her bag. Rummaging around in its infinite depths, she pulled out a container of muggle medical tape. She knelt on the rug in front of him, those golden eyes searching his with such open and unreserved concern. “Can I... see it?”

Severus stared her down for a moment. She’d seen it fresh, there wasn’t really much that he could hide from her. His gut churned nonetheless, but after a few breaths, he undid two more buttons and pulled the frock coat and stiffly starched shirt beneath away from the wound. 

Rising up on her knees, she approached slowly enough that he managed to resist flinching away. Her fingers joined his at his neck, and her delicate little fingertips brushed over the wound. Tingles sprouted beneath her touch, burrowing like roots deep into his spinal cord. He could smell her, herbs and honey and something faintly smokey that had hung around her ever since the battle with the inferi. 

The corner of her precious, soft, pink lips twitched upwards. “Well it’s gotten better than the last time I saw it.” 

He exhaled through his nose. It might’ve counted as a laugh in some circles. There wasn’t anything else he could do. She was leaning up and in from between his knees and it was not conducive to thinking. 

Fumbling a moment, Hermione pulled open the muggle medical tape container. Inside wasn’t muggle tape, but rather a very delicate-looking green ribbon. “I made this over the summer, for my… for the scar on my arm.” She cringed a little and glanced away. Severus wondered if, despite her proud display of the scar, some part of her still hated it. 

“May I?” he asked, voice quiet and hoarse. His throat was dry, it wasn’t his fault. 

She nodded, pulling out the ribbon for his examination. 

Up close, he could tell that it was a very thin tissue paper, packed on one side with some sort of herbal mix. Sniffing it, he recognized a few scents--dittany, wormwood, wiggentree, mint. There were traces of several other ingredients, like flobberworm mucus and mandrake, too. “A healing poultice?”

“Yes. The base is ground and mixed dittany and wiggentree bark, with a lot added to it--all blended together, and then laid along the strips. Powdered bezoar and mint for any infection; infusion of wormwood and valerian root for pain numbing; sloth brains and accompanying mucous for augmenting the wiggentree and drawing the body’s natural healing systems to focus on the area. I also added powdered unicorn horn for the healing properties.” 

“Hm.”

“It works alright, I think. Really helped with Ron’s splinching wound. It calms down stuff from Bellatrix’s knife, although… I mean, nothing will ever heal that.” She took the strip and laid it against his chest, making him jump before he forced himself to hold still. “Sorry.” 

He didn’t react. 

“There’s a lot hidden still,” she murmured. “Do you mind…?” She chewed on her lip as she looked up at him, awaiting his response. 

Ah yes, this was the first time a student (well, not anymore, a small voice reminded him) ever wanted to see more of Severus Snape’s skin. Reluctantly, he pried open a few more buttons, allowing her access to the rest of the scarring. 

Hermione adjusted herself, standing up and hopping to sit on the chair’s armrest. Severus tried to not make startled snarling noises, and he was mostly successful, but she still offered him an apologetic smile. “Sorry. I need to be able to measure well for this.” 

At least she wasn’t between his legs anymore. Small victories, Severus. 

He just leaned back in the chair and tried to focus on the ceiling as she leaned in and measured, her delicate little fingers touching here, there, trailing up his neck and down his chest, fuck. She looked completely concentrated on her task, chewing her lip and gently breaking fragments of the ribbon in lengths that he assumed would cover the gashes left by Nagini’s fangs. 

While she was intently focused, he let himself glance over at her. Little curls framed her face again, having escaped from the braid that bobbed over his shoulder. Gold eyes darted over his neck, and he could see the mental calculations she was doing. 

Once all the tissue paper was measured out, she pulled up her wand and whispered an “aguamenti.” After laying the tissue paper over the scarring, she trailed her wand across the length of the ribbon, soaking it with water. Severus’ nerves weren’t regenerated in the area, but he was faintly aware of the paste settling down, cool and damp against his skin.

With that done, she smiled and glanced over at him, looking quite pleased. And also inches from his face. “It’ll dry in about fifteen minutes. It needs to stay on at least half an hour to work, but I’ve gotten it to stick for a few hours. It’ll also stain, I’ve got some fabric that can be laid over it.”

“Don’t--” He said as she glanced towards the bag. “I’ll be fine.” 

“Are you sure? Your shirt’s white.” 

“It’s not that hard to charm out.” 

“If you’re sure.” She grinned at him. 

Here she was, taking care of even the stupidest little thing like his laundry, after using her own brilliance to try and heal him. She had to be perfect. Severus wondered if she’d hate him for his thoughts. 

He dared to look at her eyes, and was caught in the snare of those gorgeous caramel irises. “I’m sure.” He tried to sound firm, but it came out a whisper. It felt like he was answering a very different question. 

“Okay,” she murmured. 

She didn’t withdraw. They hovered there for a moment, so close he could feel her breath and taste her heat. One of her hands reached over, brushing away his hair, tucking it behind his ear, her thumb running down the curve of his ear, fingers trailing along his jaw. His heart was in full fight or flight mode, and the sheer stress of it reminded him of when he was pinned under the claws of Voldemort. But there were no claws here, no pinning, just a very pretty girl looking at him with such open adoration. 

BING! came the obnoxious sound of her timer. 

Both of them startled. Hermoine glanced over her shoulder, but didn’t move. 

“Hermione,” he whispered. “Go. Please?” 

It was supposed to be a command, but it came out as a plea. She tilted her head to the side, and after a moment, she nodded. Then she got up and left, returning to the potion. 

Severus could breathe again. Shaking, he leaned forward and took a moment to breathe, letting his heartbeat return to normal. Fucking Merlin, he was too old for this. Both for her and for the cardiac workouts. But especially for her. As far as Severus was concerned, he could keel over from a heart attack at any moment and be perfectly happy. 

Hermione had bounced back already, impossibly. “Excited for the winter break?” she chirped. 

“Yes,” he replied, still a little breathless, still very filled with self-hatred. It would be the first break that he was totally free. So he would probably be spending most of it at the castle, doing his best to knock himself into oblivion before the next year. “Wandering off with Potter, I take it?”

“Just for some of it.”

“Christmas?”

“Yeah, you know how it is. Harry wants me to cook my mom’s famous chocolate cake for the celebration at Grimmauld Place.”

“Sounds delicious.” Severus realized this was probably the first time in twenty years he had engaged in small talk that wasn’t mandated by some atrocious social torture. He wasn’t sure how he felt about it. Small talk wasn’t his thing, certainly, but he was very curious about what Hermione was doing during the break--what he could do to keep out of her way, and any hints about… well, she had been so thoughtful to him. It was time he repaid that. 

“I’ll bring you some cake. Mom and I always used to eat it and drink this amazing apple cider that was homemade by a neighbor.” 

Severus closed his eyes. He had once had neighbors, and Lily’s mother was especially fond of making apple cider. He’d learned how to do it, but had never personally attempted it. “Heading to your parents after Potter?”

She tensed up. He could sense it across the room. He cracked one eye open to observe her. “No, we’re not in contact anymore.” 

That smelled funky. Not the potion, her explanation. He remembered her at the Hogwarts Express one year, maybe her third or fourth, and her mother and father had embraced her tearfully and handed her a book-sized present. Something was going on there. 

“Apologies,” Severus said. 

She shrugged. “It’s fine.” A couple decades of listening in on female students conversing told Severus it was not fine. “Why so curious, Sev? You’re normally not one for small talk.” She flashed a smile over her shoulder. 

“Mm. I may need brewing assistance over the break, and I’ll need to plan out my schedule accordingly.” 

“Okay! I’ll be staying here when I’m not with Harry, and I assume at some point I’ll be moving to the apprentice quarters, so I should be pretty easy to reach.” 

Fuck, that was right. She would be even more difficult to avoid then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hermione's dress is based off of a Rubin Singer piece:  



	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second half of double update 💚

That Saturday was the Yule Ball. 

Draco gathered his squadron early for getting hair and makeup done. Hermione wasn’t surprised in the slightest when they skipped the normal line of Beautifique and went in through the VIP entrance, and were escorted to a gorgeous private room. 

The walls of the room were charmed to look like the salon was situated in the middle of the bamboo forests of China. Occasionally, elegant deer darted by, bells hanging from their antlers tinkling as they bounded over rocks and the babbling brook that ended in a small waterfall. The waterfall filled a pool that steamed with warmth--and was actually a hot tub. 

Each of them had a stylist, whom Draco had provided images of the dresses and jewelry planned. Hermione was planning on very minimal jewelry for her look, quite content with the dress itself doing most of the work, although she did want to wear black opera gloves to match the dress. 

It was a relaxing few hours, and Hermione actually rather enjoyed getting pampered. She could get used to this, if it was what Draco decided to do whenever he got bored. 

Her hairstylist had charmed her hair to have brighter highlights and darker lowlights. The unruly curls were tamed into gentle waves. A braided crown on each side met up at the back of Hermione’s head, where all of her hair was gathered into a tousled ponytail. The hairstyle had also woven in a hair vine of ivory pearls and black roses. 

Then it was back to the castle to change. Ginny and Luna’s dresses were in Hermione’s room, which had been voted the Place That They Were Getting Ready In. As Head Girl, Hermione had her own bathroom, which was much larger than the student bathrooms and therefore much better suited to preparations. 

Luna had her jewelry in her bag, and as she was unpacking hers (and while Hermione began to change) Ginny had run to grab her stuff. A knock on the door heralded her return. Hermione was just wearing a bra and panties, but Ginny had seen more than that before, so she opened the door. 

Ginny squeaked and jumped back. “Oh, sorry! I--”

“Oh!” Hermione realized, belatedly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” 

“No, no, I’m fine, I just didn’t want you to be uncomfortable. Are… are you guys sure it’s okay that I come and get ready with you?”

Luna nodded. 

“Why wouldn’t we be?” Hermione asked. 

“Well, you know, because I’m lesbian--”

“Ginny,” Hermione admonished, gently pulling her into the room and closing the door. “This is something you just realized. That means that you haven’t changed, just your understanding of yourself. You’re still my friend, and I still trust you.” 

Ginny sniffled a little. “Don’t say stuff like that when there’s all this charmwork that I can’t ruin.” 

Hermione laughed, hugging her briefly, which Ginny returned gratefully. 

“I thought everyone knew you were a lesbian,” Luna said, in her soft and dreamy cadence.

Ginny pinked. “Merlin, do they?”

“No,” Hermione replied. “Luna’s just smart and insightful.” 

Luna smiled at Hermione. “Oh, thank you, Hermione.” 

Toeing the ground, Ginny glanced up at Luna. “How long have you known?”

Tilting her head skyward, Luna paused to think. “Since I first met you. I’m sorry, Ginny, it never occurred to me that you didn’t know about your own preferences. I certainly would’ve told you, if you asked.” 

Groaning, Ginny covered her face. “Is there anything else revealing about myself that I should know?”

“I… well, you don’t want the Weasley Brood, maybe two daughters at most,” Luna began. “I think you’re only convincing yourself otherwise because your mother keeps insisting on many grandchildren. Your father will support you when you come out, and I always noticed you were scared about how that might drive a wedge between him and your mother.” 

“I don’t believe in divination, but I do believe in Luna,” Hermione told Ginny with a grin as the redhead just stared, slack-jawed, at Luna.

Ginny could only nod. 

Luna went and changed into her dress, a shimmering teal metallic minidress with puffy sleeves and a shoulderless neckline. Her earrings had life-sized monarch butterflies in glass orbs, and a few more monarch butterflies were charmed to fan their wings on her hair, shoulders, and fingers. Occasionally they would flutter into flight and change positions on her. 

Ginny helped Hermione into hers, then went to change herself. She was wearing a navy blue classic A-line, with lace covering her shoulders and back. The navy was adorned with coral applique flowers, and high-heeled coral stilettos completed the look. 

“This dress is so much nicer than the one I wore to the Triwizard Yule Ball,” Ginny said with a sigh, twirling in front of the mirror. “I can’t believe I have Draco Malfoy to thank for it.” 

“He’s gotten so much better recently, hasn’t he?” Hermione said, handing Ginny her earrings. 

“His parents don’t accept him,” Luna said quietly as she tugged on orange booties. “Their disapproval for his sexuality and seeing how they scorned him for staying by Harry has changed his perspective on what they taught him, I think.”

“Luna, you are positively magical.” Ginny carefully put on one of the earrings. They were dangling teardrop rose quartz. “I think I might get more ear piercings. That's the sort of rebellion I can pretend isn't rebellion when mom yells at me. Oh, hey, Luna, is Snape in love with Hermione?”

Luna blinked. “Yes. Isn’t it obvious?” 

Hermione covered her face with one gloved hand. “You are incorrigible.” 

“See, that one actually is obvious, to everyone but you.” Ginny reached over and took her bracelet from Hermione, a chain of large fuschia flowers, like on the appliques. 

“He’s also terrified of her,” Luna added, so quiet Hermione almost thought she imagined it, until Ginny reacted. 

Ginny froze with the bracelet half-on. “Why?”

Hermione answered this time. “Because he knows I could enslave him all over again.” 

“And he wouldn’t even mind,” Luna finished, with a nod. 

In the mirror, Ginny’s eyes met Hermione’s, and grew sad. “But you wouldn’t do that.” 

“I wouldn’t. That doesn’t make the concept any less terrifying.” 

Ginny sighed. “Well, that’s depressing. Let’s go be cheery at the ball, shall we?”

They made their way down to the Great Hall. The dinner tables had been cleared away, and instead the hall was dressed in garlands of poinsettias. The illumination was now provided by clusters of softly glowing, teardrop-shaped crystals, which drifted around the room on intangible breezes that matched the magical sky of the ceiling above. The walls danced with light as silvery images of the four House animals moved across them, even interacting with each other and students. Twin refreshment tables stood at each end of the room, with central chocolate fountains and gently twirling, floating plates of cakes and cookies. Trays of glasses also floated around the room. One simply had to pluck one of the crystalline glasses and state a drink, and it would pour itself. 

“Gorgeous!” Ginny gasped. “Oh, look at the lights!”

“The charm work here is astounding,” Hermione gasped, immediately caught up by the walls. “Professor Flitwick must’ve spent hours on this!” She smiled at them. “I’m going to go find him and ask him how he did it. Then I’ll meet up with you guys and the boys.” 

Hermione dove into the crowd and almost immediately regretted it. People were quite complimentary, yes, but… they were everywhere. It was so restrictive. And it reminded her of… of… 

_\--grasping crawling smothering screaming groaning skittering gnawing clamoring--_

She was nearly running by the time that she burst out of the Great Hall and into the courtyard. Taking deep, shaking breath, she clutched the railing of the courtyard windows and nearly vomited into a rose bush. 

Claustrophobia. Fuck. She should’ve known better. She should’ve known it would trigger something. Leaning heavily against the railing, she let tears fall into the rosebushes. 

“Mione,” came a recognizable voice. “Fancy seeing you out here.” 

Ronald fucking Weasley. Hermione cursed silently. She couldn’t hex him, not here, not now, but she also certainly didn’t want him to see her like this. 

Taking another shuddering breath, she glanced over in his direction. He had a Sixth year pressed against him, her dress nearly half off. She was gorgeous, tall and porcelain and blonde, everything Hermione wasn’t. Old anxiety twisted in her gut, but along with it, a nostalgic sadness. 

“Don’t let me disturb you,” she told him. “Just needed a breather.” 

“What, is the perfect Hermione Granger throwing a hissy fit?”

She took a deep breath. _Be the bigger person. Ronald isn’t worth it._ To her surprise, she found her rage at him drained. His taunts were infantile, and didn’t particularly faze her. “Sure,” she answered, quite calmly. “Whatever you want to think. Though I might advise you find a more secluded location, before the professors discover what you’re up to. Unless that’s part of the appeal, of course.” 

Hermione looked upwards, towards the sky. It was starry out, and she smiled at the constellations. The breeze was freeing, and the space helped. Her knees still trembled from the panic of a crowded room with people bumping into her, but for some reason, Ron’s childishness calmed her. It was a reminder of just how happy she was now, as opposed to how unfulfilled she’d felt with him, a confirmation of how immature and unsuited he’d been. 

With a huff, Ron got up, dragged his date with him, and disappeared off down the corridors. 

A shuffling noise from a nearby shadow drew her attention. Severus appeared, stepping over to stand at her side, also leaning against the railing. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah.” She tipped her head over to rest on his shoulder, leaning against him, so their upper arms and shoulders touched. “Just… a lot of people in there. It was overwhelming.”

He nodded. “The inferi.”

“Yes.”

Severus was silent for a moment. “Would you like me to go… ‘find’ and punish Ron?”

Hermione smiled at the audible air quotes. “If you want to. But I’d rather you stay here.”

Another silence, filled with the soft rustle of the bushes and distant nocturnal bug noises. “Then I will.”

“Thank you.” 

He inclined his head slightly, and was quiet once more. 

Hermione took as long as she needed, comforted by the warmth of him through his dress robes and the serenity of the night. She closed her eyes, feeling him breathe. After a long time, he reached over and curled his pinky finger around hers. The touch was tiny, but she felt an immense surge of butterflies as her heart throbbed with a sudden warmth, and smiled as she rested against him. His elegant, pale, slender finger draped around her gloved pinky. She was careful not to tear up, as she knew he’d probably misinterpret her joyful tears. It was the first time he’d initiated contact, and the tiniest steps sometimes meant the most.

Now she was never moving. 

It was probably fifteen minutes before he shifted. “We should head back in. Your friends must be concerned.” 

Hermione had a distinct feeling they were not ‘concerned’ so much as ‘hoping she was getting laid.’ She didn’t say that. Instead she just looked up at him with a smile. “They’re big kids, they can take care of themselves.” 

He let out a sharp exhale that she recognized as the softest of laughs. “You know they can’t.” 

She couldn’t help a grin. “Mm. I suppose you make a good point. I did want to talk to Flitwick about the charmwork he did on the walls, too.” 

“An entire ballroom of socialization and spectacle, and the first thing you want to know is how it works. Know-it-all.” 

“Guilty as charged.” She stood up fully, and he disconnected their pinkies. Dammit. So close to being close to hand-holding. “Shall we?” 

He nodded, stepping back, and paused. “You look like you’re wearing a book.” 

Laughing, she twirled for him. “Don’t I? I love it.” 

“It’s gorgeous,” he said, a little breathlessly. 

“Thank you, I thought you’d like it.” There. He’d be stewing over the implications of that sentence for a week or two. She held out her hand. “Escort me back in?”

“Of course, Madam Granger.” 

She felt like giggling like a lovestruck third year as he took her arm and held the door for her, guiding her back into the crowded ballroom. Severus lead her over to Flitwick, who was discussing something with Minerva, then immediately vanished to chase after misbehaving students. 

“Oh, so that’s where Severus went,” Minerva observed, raising an eyebrow meaningfully at Hermione. “Are you alright, my dear?”

Nodding, she replied, “Yes, now I am, thank you. I…” She glanced out at the crowds. “...I think I have unfortunately developed claustrophobia, after that time with the inferi. I’m sorry to have vanished for such a long time, Severus was kind enough to come and ensure I was alright.”

Minerva reached out and squeezed her hand. “I’m so sorry, my girl. I’m sure that one of us can escort you over to your friends, to make sure there’s enough space.” 

Hermione’s heart throbbed again with the kindness, although there were no butterflies this time. “Thank you, but I don’t want to steal another staff member.”

The Headmistress puffed up then, in that small way that she did when she was indignant. It wasn’t puffing, perhaps more just drawing herself up. “Nonsense. I will not have Hogwarts’ first apprentice in a decade be put-upon by mindless teenagers.” 

Laughing, Hermione glanced out at the crowd. “They’re just enjoying themselves. It’s gorgeous in here, you really outdid yourselves this year. Which reminds me, Professor Flitwick-”

He raised a hand and shook his head. “Filius now, my dear, you’re one of the faculty.” 

“Filius,” Hermione corrected herself with a half-bow and a smile. “How on earth did you manage the walls? They’re gorgeous! They must have taken you hours!” 

She chatted with Filius about how the charms worked until Harry came over and asked for a dance, so she excused herself and thanked Filius for the explanation. 

“Bookworm,” Harry said fondly as they twirled in a waltz, after casting a muffliato around them. “Where’d you wander off to? We were all worried.” 

Coloring, Hermione glanced down, chastised. “I’m sorry. I just… there were so many people, and it reminded me of being in that awful beast, and I had to get out. I went to the courtyard.” 

“And Severus?”

“He showed up. After I ran into Ron. Offered to go and hex Ron.” She grinned. 

Harry’s eyes twinkled. “Did you take him up on it?”

“No.”

“Why the bloody hell not?”

Hermione shrugged. “I dunno. I just saw Ron snogging this pretty blonde, you know, everything I’m not, and I didn’t feel a thing. All I could think about was how much happier I am now.” She cast a glance over at their table of friends, which was currently being held down by Neville and Ginny. Draco and Luna were also waltzing. “I mean, we have a good group of friends and I… actually find someone physically and mentally attractive, instead of just feeling obligated.” 

A wide smile spread across Harry’s face, and it was so authentic that Hermione almost had tears brought to her eyes again. “I’m really happy for you. I hope it works out.” 

“I think it will,” Hermione said with a shrug. “He initiated contact while we were out there.” She unclasped their joined hands, and linked their pinkies. “Just this,” she said, before re-clasping and focusing back on the dance. “But it meant a lot.” 

Harry nodded. “You and your rehabilitated cats.” 

Hermione laughed, barely managing to suppress the unladylike snort that came with it. “I can see it. Although, what did Ginny call him? An absolute puppy.” She grinned. “I like that descriptor.” Pausing, she tilted her head at him. “How are you and Ginny? Truly?”

“I… really good, honestly,” he sighed. “I’m just so relieved that she’s okay, happy, and we’re still friends. I love her, you know that. And I mean, sure, there’s no sexual attraction there, but what the hell does that matter when I get to keep one of the sweetest people I’ve ever met as a close friend? Besides, I’m proud of her for figuring things out. I think it’s an exciting journey to take together.” 

“You’re going to make me cry with your sweetness,” Hermione chuckled, rolling her eyes. 

“Oh, please. You should be used to this by now.” He glanced around furtively, even though their conversation was already obscured. “She… actually suggested something to me that I didn’t even think about. She said she wondered if I might be gay, rather than bi, or… maybe more attracted to men than women.” 

“Whatever you end up deciding to call yourself, you’re still my brother, and I’ll love you regardless,” Hermione told him, chin up proudly. “And you and Draco are probably going to be together within the next couple months.” 

Harry laughed as he spun her around the room, and did not deny it.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok apparently the thing insists I aready updated today? Whatever, have a shorter but fluffy chapter.

Severus wasn’t paying attention to his discussion with Vector. Vector clearly knew this, and was just taking the time to unload on him. His eyes were focused on Hermione and Harry, twirling about the floor, smiling and laughing as they went. The dance ended, and Hermione walked on Harry’s arm off the floor, looking cooly elegant in her singularly gorgeous dress. She looked like a vision that had stepped out of an artist’s sketchbook and wrapped herself in the spare pages. 

Sure, he’d had her on his arm in much the same way just a couple of weeks ago at the Ministry Ball. But Severus was not a good man. He was greedy. He wanted her on his arm, always. 

“Circe’s sweet tits,” Vector finally broke into his thoughts, on her fifth glass of wine. “Just go ask her to marry you, Severus. She’d say yes. You must’ve earned a second Mastery in pining, you could fill an entire country with conifers right now. The girl’s perfectly besotted with you, and you ought to know that.” 

He realized the pun belatedly, and was about to retort when Minerva climbed up to her podium and lifted her hands for silence. Professor Sprout was behind her. The room hushed. 

“I’d like to take this night to make a special announcement,” she said, gesturing to Sprout. “Professor Sprout has recently decided to take on the second Apprentice Hogwarts will have had in over ten years. Mr. Longbottom will be taking his N.E.W.T.s over the winter break, and returning in spring as the Apprentice of Herbology.” 

The room broke into applause, Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs cheering the loudest. 

“It was a tradition, back when Hogwarts had apprentices, for the masters and apprentices to share a dance. I would like to reinstate that tradition now. Professor Snape, Professor Sprout, please come to the floor with your apprentices!”

Severus shot her a glare, which Minerva ignored, and stood to go find Hermione. That damned cat was setting him up. Which, well, he didn’t really object to, since Hermione looked absolutely flawless and he was more than happy to dance with her, but the publicity of it made him itch. 

He found her at the table with her friends, and extended his hand. “If I may have this next dance, Apprentice Granger?”

“I’d love that,” she replied, standing and taking his hand gracefully, coming to stand nearly touching him. In a lower voice, without breaking eye contact, she added, “Master Snape.”

Fucking minx. 

They took the floor, and he could hear murmurings as the music started to play. “Poor Hermione, has to dance with him,” and “Maybe she should’ve gone for Charms or something.” The one that really bit, though, was, “Wasn’t he such an ass to her? And now she has to dance with him?”

“Severus,” she murmured as she pulled closer, waltzing with him, “Don’t listen to them. Focus on me.” 

He attempted a smile, but it didn’t stick. Too many people around. “Believe me, it is difficult to focus on anything else.” 

She grinned playfully, swaying her hips extra on the next steps. “Am I that bad of a dancer, you must constantly monitor me?” The ivory and black dress spun out as he twirled her. “Maybe you should dance a few more with me, then. Teach me the steps.” 

“I would enjoy nothing more,” he admitted begrudgingly, “But I doubt it would be appropriate.” 

Hermione shrugged and rolled her eyes. “Who gives a shit what the world says? I don’t care.” 

“You may not, but I know that a young lady’s reputation is vital.” 

The hand on his shoulder came up and stroked his jawline. “Shut up and dip me, Severus.” 

Fuck, it was impossible to say no when she looked at him like that. 

So he did. He let it be long, languid, and deep, and heard more than a few cheers and gasps from the girls in the audience. Hermione brought her other hand to his chest, clearly trusting him with her entire body, and for a moment, it was just her--perfect, suspended, held up just by his hands, staring up at him with a sly smile and the softest eyes. 

And then the music went on, and he pulled her out, continuing the waltz. 

When it was over, the dance ended to applause and more than a few gazes lingered on him. They weren’t critical, but he still wasn’t comfortable underneath the eyes of hormonal teenage girls. He brought Hermione’s gloved hand up to his lips, then escorted her back to the table of her friends. She smiled at him and offered him her hand to kiss again, which he did. Happily. 

It wasn’t until the night was done that Filius came over to him and offered a single, glossy sheet of paper. Severus knew the Charms Professor was able to cast the same charm that was imbued in wizarding cameras, but he’d never seen it happen without some lens to support it--until that night. 

Severus found himself unexpectedly teary-eyed at the photo. It was a perfectly framed shot of him and Hermione, in the middle of the dip. To his surprise, the Severus in the photo was smiling at her, a smile that was both visible and warm. Had he been smiling at the time? He hadn’t noticed. As he watched, her hands traced his jawline and a thumb brushed his lips. He could practically feel the tingling on his mouth. 

He looked up to Filius. “I--” He swallowed. “Thank you. I don’t know how I’ll repay you.” 

The Charms Professor chuckled. “One doesn’t need to repay gifts, Severus. You’re not in my debt. Cheers, and have a good night.” And then he was gone. 

Severus cradled the photo as he returned to his quarters, and immediately conjured up a frame to set it in. He put it on his bedside table. 

He wanted Hermione Granger. But there was work to do, and apologies to make, before he could be with her in good conscience. They couldn’t be rushed, so he would simply have to bear it through and hope she didn’t turn away. He didn’t dare ask her to wait for him. 

He could only, and barely, hope.


	27. Chapter 27

It was a week into winter break before the lake had frozen solidly enough to trust. Ice skating was something Hermione had always done since she was a little girl. Her parents had encouraged it first as a way for their bookish daughter to keep in shape, but then because they saw she truly loved the activity. It helped her clear her mind, she found, the razor sharp focus of a blade on ice reflecting itself in the frozen lake and in her thoughts. 

She needed that focus now. Severus had given her free rein to let her do whatever she wished for the memory restoration potion, but that didn’t mean she knew how to accomplish it. It would have to be a charmed potion, obviously, with some sort of countercharm applied, the ingredients could augment the countercharm, but that felt like too much of a cop out. 

It wouldn’t be a cop out if it worked, Hermione reminded herself as she sat down on a log, kicking off her snow boots and pulling on her skates. She set about lacing first one, then the other, knotting them tightly so that they fit seamlessly with her feet. Standing, she tested her balance on the ice. Good. A wave of her wand, and the lake’s surface flattened out a little more, smoothing the divets that marked divides in the ice sheets.

She decided on no balance charms, not wanting to cheat. With a quick kick, she was skating across the ice, feeling the lake beneath her feet, building speed, letting her muscles ease back into the familiar movements. The wind whipped around her, but she paid it no heed. Between the insulation of her coat and the sweat she’d work up, the cold wouldn’t be an issue anymore. A wave of her hand did put a warming spell on her face, which was needed if only because it felt like individual icicles were assaulting every single one of her pores. 

With a quick movement she turned halfway around, now skating backwards in a circle. A build up, speeding across the ice, and she jumped, landing her full twist solidly on one foot, wavering for a moment before she pushed onwards and switched to face forward. 

Ingredients. Nerve regenerators, she decided as she skid to a halt, standing on one foot and using her other leg to propel herself lazily in a spin. Nerve regenerators, memory sharpeners, and something to really augment everything involved. When did people best remember things? When they were calm, but she couldn’t tamper with the depressants too much, or else it would just result in the drinker going to sleep. 

She pumped with her leg, pulling into a tighter twirl. Unicorn horn or blood would probably have to be involved, which was a pity--unless she could get unicorn blood freely given, but she wouldn’t dare ask the unicorns for such a gift for selfish reasons.

The centaurs! The realization sprung upon her and she flung her arms and leg out, stopping her rotation. The centaurs knew of many plants, and in her discussions with them she’d heard them mention a particular flower which was known to counter the effects of mind-altering charms. She might be able to bargain with them. 

Hermione skated for another hour, until she was absolutely exhausted, and then returned to her snow boots. Tossing her skates over her shoulder, she headed back towards the school. There, she exchanged skates for her beaded bag, including in it a copy of the recipe for her anti-scarring tape and a few foreign plants that she thought they might like. Then it was into the Forbidden Forest. 

The centaurs didn’t like people on their land. She knew that. So instead, she stopped at a respectful distance from their borders, and sat, waiting. 

Shortly after she sat, the air changed. Hermione knew they were surrounding her--weapons drawn and trained on her, probably--and she stood, holding up her hands to indicate she was not armed. Her wand was visible in its holster, but she made no move for it. 

A huge, hulking centaur emerged from the darkness of the trees. Hermione bowed, knowing that Magorian was likely considering murder. 

“You,” he said, and to her surprise, his voice was colored with amusement. “The Potter boy’s friend. Silverfire.” 

Silverfire. So they had been paying attention during Rabastan’s attack. Hermione raised from her bow as he addressed her. “Greetings. Thank you for meeting me.” 

He snorted, one massive hoof pawing the ground. “You are the one who stopped that man and his destruction of the forest, his interruption of the natural cycle of life. We would be remiss to not treat you with respect, if only in thanks for that.” 

It was nice to get some credit, but she also felt uneasy about everyone feeling indebted to her over it. “I helped where I could.” She glanced around, at the surrounding hunters. “I was wondering if I may trade knowledge and herbs with your healers. I have brought a few things, as gifts and as a demonstration of what value I may be able to offer.” 

Magorian stared at her, and she dropped her gaze respectfully. “Very well. Follow me. I will show you to our lead mare.” 

Thank Merlin. She wasn’t dead yet. This was already going better than anticipated. 

With a bow, she followed the hunting party further into the forest. They took winding paths and double-backed multiple times. They stopped her in a clearing outside of what Hermione presumed was the camp, far away enough that she couldn’t see the set-up but close enough that she could hear the sounds of camp. 

An elderly bay mare returned, following Magorian. She offered a smile to Hermione. “Silverfire,” she said, nodding a greeting.

“Herdmother,” Hermione replied, bowing as she had for Magorian. “You do me a great honor.” 

The mare whinnied a laugh. “Nonsense. Twice now you have preserved our forest. Now, Magorian says you have things to trade?”

Hermione nodded. “May I?” she gestured towards her bag, and the mare nodded, coming closer and settling on the ground in front of Hermione. Opening the bag, Hermione pulled out the herbs first. “These are a gift,” she said, offering them to the Herdmother. “Foreign, but they are powerful in healing salves. There are seeds, too, since I guessed your methods of growing plants have far superceded ours. I hope they do not offend, I intended them as a thanks for meeting with me.”

The mare’s wrinkled hands took the herbs from her, and she sniffed them deeply. “Powerful indeed. Scents I haven’t smelled in a very long time. These will serve our hunters well; thank you, Silverfire.”

Next, Hermione took out her container of her anti-scar tape. “This is a healing poultice, made in strips,” she explained, opening the container. “I would be willing to offer what I have made, along with the recipe. It was designed to counter cursed wounds.” She revealed her MUDBLOOD scar, ignoring the ripple in the hunters. Taking a small strip of the poultice, she applied it to the M, using a bit of snow to wet it down. When she pulled it off only a few moments later, the scar’s appearance had turned from raised and angry to white and thin. “I recognize that your hunters wear their scars with pride, and it is not my intention to disrespect that. But I understand that during during war, mares and foals may also be marked and wounded, and it is unfair for them to carry that burden.”

With a deep sigh, the mare reached out and carressed her hand over the MUDBLOOD scar. She looked up at Hermione. “You must have been but a foal when you were branded.”

“Yes.”

The mare gave her a look of infinite understanding. “We would be interested in your poultice, especially its method of application. I have not seen such a technique before. What would you ask of us, Silverfire?”

“I have heard of a plant that helps counter mind-altering charms,” Hermione said, biting her lip. “I would like… well.” She hesitated.

“Tell me, my dear,” the mare murmured.

“My parents,” Hermione admitted. The centaurs didn’t like lies or omission. “During the war, I… I was afraid they’d be targeted. I erased their memories of me. Made them move to a faraway land.” She closed her eyes. “I don’t regret what I did. It saved their lives. But I miss them terribly. I would like to reverse my charm, if possible, to ask for their forgiveness.”

The mare was silent for a long while. 

“I understand if I have not brought enough of worth,” Hermione added, quieter, ignoring the tears that trickled down her cheeks. “I would ask that you take my poultice as a gift, then, and ask if there is anything I could do to prove myself worthy of this knowledge.” She reached into her bag, and pulled out the scroll. “The recipe,” she replied, offering it to the herdmother. “It is charmed so that even those who cannot read can understand its contents. I… hope that’s alright.”

“You have brought more than enough of worth, Silverfire,” the mare replied. “I thank you for your gifts. Come with me, and I will find you a sprout of this plant, so your glass buildings may house it.” She rose, and lead Hermione past the hunters and towards a great outcropping of rock. 

It was a cave, Hermione realized as they approached. A cave with a natural hot spring inside. Her eyes widened as the mare lead her into an expansive hollow. Steam from the spring heated the roof and ran, dripping, down brilliant emerald moss. It stole the breath from Hermione’s lungs. 

“This place is… a treasure. Thank you for letting me see it, Herdmother.” 

The mare chuckled. “You needn’t be so uncertain,” she replied. “Magorian is the scary one, not I.” 

Hermione looked up and blushed. “Sorry. I just don’t want to be ungrateful.” 

“You are not.” The herdmother deposited the satchel she was wearing on a rock. “You may wish to take off your cloths. We will be swimming.” 

Hermione’s eyes widened. She ducked out from her beaded bag, taking out a large jar that could hold some of the water. Then she stripped down to her bra and panties quickly. The air was warm and welcoming, and Hermione found herself unafraid to be exposed around the herdmother. She turned with a bright smile, and noticed the centaur’s eyes were wide with sadness as they traced her scar from Dolohov. 

“You have suffered much.” 

Hermione grinned and shrugged a little. “Would’ve killed me, if I hadn’t shut him up beforehand. I had to take ten potions a day. Nasty man.” 

“And now he is dead.” 

It wasn’t a question, but Hermione nodded in confirmation. 

“You are a survivor, Silverfire. Now, is that container sufficient?” She came over and knelt down, pointing to iridescent moss that covered the inside of the rocks. “That is what we are looking for. You will need water to sustain it, and the dirt from the walls. The water here is special, it is the lifeblood of the forest.”

Hermione nodded, aware suddenly of how valuable this was. She turned to the herdmother. “I know I’ve said thank you a bunch, but… I really do mean it.” 

The herdmother nodded. “I know. Now, be warned: the water is hot, and will burn. Diving for this moss is a trial we send all apprentice healers on before they become a full healer. I would not have suggested that you dive with me if I was not certain you could endure it.” 

Squaring her shoulders, Hermione nodded. “May I cast a water breathing charm?”

“If you wish. I expect you will have a harder time staying afloat than I will.” The mare chuckled, because she was clearly tall enough to stand on the shallower side, while Hermione would have to tread water or hang from the rocks. 

“Thank you.” Grabbing her wand, Hermione quickly cast a water breathing spell, but didn’t bother with a heat protection charm. She would do this the centaur way, in order to not risk dishonoring the herdmother’s faith in her. “Must I do anything else?”

The centaur shrugged. “Just jump.” 

Hermione nodded, secured the jar in her hands, and did so. 

The water was scalding and immersed her like flames. She was reminded of a hot tub, if not for the sulfurous fumes that assaulted her from the surface of the water. The lifeblood of the earth, the herdmother had said. That made sense. Hermione paused to get her bearings, and noticed the herdmother entering the pool more carefully. 

Hermione surfaced, and the herdmother chuckled. “A welcome relief from the winter, no?”

“It’s great!” She grinned. “I’m going to try for the moss.” 

“Watch your fingers.” 

“Thanks.” Hermione dove again. 

The water warmed considerably as she approached the bottom of the spring. Not intolerably, but she could see heat shifting her vision, although that might’ve just been pockets of gas dissolved in the hot springs. Her fingers were indeed about to scald. She gritted her teeth and took deep breaths of hot air, reaching over and grabbing a chunk of the shiniest moss, making sure she got the dirt, too. She held it carefully as she ascended out of the intolerably hot water, then tucked it into the jar and ensured it was safely inside before surfacing once more. 

She placed the jar carefully on the edge of the spring, pulling herself out to close the jar’s lid, water still inside. “Did I do okay? Get everything I needed?”

The herdmother was beaming. “You have passed the trial,” she said. “The herb is yours, herd-friend Silverfire.”


	28. Chapter 28

Hermione brought her prize back to Hogwarts that day, and immediately set to work with Sprout to make sure it had an aquarium that it could grow in. The water had to be magically heated and imbued with extra salts and sulfur, but with a layer of packed dirt and nutrients, the moss was hopefully content. 

She took a small clipping back to the potions lab to test its properties. She discovered an incredible resistance to charms, so much so that she had to use protective glassware or else it would remove the charms that kept the utensils and vials clean. 

Hermione was exhausted by the time she’d ran out of diagnostic charms that worked on the moss, but continued to work through it. Although all senses of safety rebelled against the concept of “just lick it,” all of the potions texts about discovery seemed to indicate that eating ingredients was a required part of the discovery process. 

She opted to skip eating for now, and instead began other physical methods of altering the moss, like crushing or juicing. Neither of those worked particularly well--moss wasn’t very juicy--but at least it could be crushed with a mortar and pestle easily.

It wasn’t until she lit a small strand of the moss on fire that the memories came. Overflowing memories, the ones that she suppressed the most, pulled from her deepest being--yet nothing concrete, just shapes and forms and sensations; a sharpness in her forearm and coldness in her heart, a boy’s body drooping from musclebound arms, abandonment in a cold and lonely forest, yellow eyes… death around her, cradled in her arms, as she drew poison from wounds. 

By the time she got the thing in a vial and corked it, she was sobbing. Sinking to the floor, Hermione took a few deep breaths. 

The sensations left as soon as they had came, the feelings disappearing in their wake. Hermione was left surprisingly okay on the floor, despite her tear-stained face. 

Well. She wasn’t opening that vial again. She’d ask Severus about disposing of it. 

She’d need a bloody fume hood to work in, if the reactions were that bad. She placed a sealing spell on the vial, too, just in case--no need to disable her mentor with flashbacks to being tortured by Voldemort. He probably wouldn’t appreciate that, and would also probably murder her. 

Of course, she also needed to test how the herb worked when ingested. But that was for another time. Preferably one where she was well-observed, in case something went wrong. 

“Hermoine Granger.”

She jumped, whirled, and found Severus there looking… well, grouchy. But that was normal. There was a particular hardness to his eyes, and she couldn’t tell what it was. “Hey. Something wrong?”

He held up a parcel. “Minerva told me to give this to you. Any reason you need a portkey to bloody Australia?”

She bit her lip. 

One imperious eyebrow lifted. Fuck. She was terrified and worried and anxious and also still attracted. Inconvenient. 

Severus drew a long breath, tossed his briefcase onto the ground (where it clattered angrily, making Hermione flinch) and collapsed onto the newly-transfigured couch by the fire. It used to be a pair of armchairs, but it had become a couch since each of them had a tendency to fall asleep in the lab. The unspoken truth was that it facilitated cuddling. Hermione was the really cuddly one, but while Severus didn’t initiate, he had been the one who transfigured the chairs into a couch, regardless of the excuse he gave. 

“I can’t make you tell me,” he said, tossing the portkey onto the reading table. “But I would like to know. I… would like to be able to help.”

Fuck. She couldn’t say no to that, not when he was being so open and helpful and not emotionally stunted. With a sigh, Hermoine put a stasis spell over her moss, hoping it’d stick, then came over and sat down on her side of the couch. 

“Promise you won’t… be mad?”

“Why the bloody hell would I be mad?”

She didn’t know, but her professors were never keen about students messing with the sort of spells she’d used. Biting her lip, she glanced at the ground. 

“Fine. I promise,” he said. It sounded dismissive, but Severus was awful at tone. It was a step forward. He wanted to help. 

“I…” She’d only told the story earlier that day, and already she had no idea how to confess it. And it did feel like a confession. It was another scar from the war, one that ran far deeper than Dolohov’s or maybe even Bellatrix’s. A decision, her decision. 

“I don’t regret it,” she said, first. “I would do it all again if I had to.” 

***

That was not a promising start. 

Typically when Hermione said she didn’t regret something, it meant that she had done something horribly selfless and stupid. Like cast a stinging hex on Harry Potter and then get captured by a maniacal bitch of a Black. He wanted to make a comment, but bit his tongue, knowing that Hermione would just continue to dig herself a hole if he gave her no response. So he kept his face carefully schooled and neutral as she continued. 

“It was… two years ago, now.” She was curling up, turning into a little ball again, with her arms wrapped around her knees. Hesitantly, Severus reached out and let one hand rest on her shoulder. He would’ve liked to hold her, but he wasn’t sure that would be welcome. However, a moment later Hermione tipped over against his side, and he adjusted himself so she was comfortably tucked with his arm around her. Her face was still hidden, and he didn’t want to press too far, so he let her continue. 

“I just… I was so scared, you know? And I didn’t know what else I could do.” A little sob shook her, and he pulled her tight, squeezing where his hand held her elbow. “I needed them far away… and they’d never believe me, they’d try something silly and loving and try to get me out of danger, but I knew I couldn’t leave Harry, and I just…” 

“What did you do?” he murmured. 

“I--I obliviated them,” she replied. The words twisted in his gut. “I wasn’t sure but I had a feeling they’d become a target and we were going on the run, so I wouldn’t be able to make sure they were safe, so I… obliviated them and sent them to Australia. I don’t regret it. I would do it again. They’re alive and they’re safe and I’m certain they’re happy--” another sob, one that Severus had no idea how to fix “--and I just hope I can tell them again that I love them without them thinking I’m some freak, and I just want to apologize, and I’m not even sure they would’ve been attacked but I had to and I was just so afraid, Severus, I was so scared--”

“Hermione.” His voice broke. He couldn’t bear to hold her anymore, not when he was actually directly responsible for this. He spun her to face him, and held her by the upper arms. She looked up at him, eyes wide and tearful.

“Sorry,” she mumbled. 

He waved a hand dismissively. “You did the right thing.” 

“Did I? It might never be reversible, and even if it is, I don’t know if they’ll ever be okay or if they’ll forgive me, and it might’ve been foolish anyway--”

“You’re not listening,” he snapped--well, half-snapped. It came out as a snap at first but he wrangled it into something less awful after the first word. He met her gaze, and held it. He needed her to understand. “You did the right thing.” 

She froze, and he could see the realization dawn on her. Her mouth formed a little ‘o.’ He swallowed. Lily had left him after he had insulted her beyond all reproach. Now Hermione would leave him after she knew that it had been him ordered to kill her parents, to track her from Hogwarts to their home, exterminate them. And… he accepted that. It hurt, it’d probably kill him, but it was fine, because he needed her to know that she had done the right thing. 

“You saved their lives,” he told her, voice unwavering, even though he knew that the firmer his words, the more firmly it’d kill any and all affection she had for him. “You did the right thing.” 

That was it. She’d get up, probably curse him out for fooling her, and then leave. He’d be alone, and sad, but it was the only way this could end rightly. 

A blur of chestnut and then she was sobbing into his chest with both arms wrapped around his thin chest, which felt altogether too frail for the sudden hammering of his heart, which seemed about to crack the porcelain of his ribs. 

“What,” was all he could get out. 

“Thank you,” she mumbled. 

“N… No, you’re not getting it,” he said, slightly frustrated at her slowness. “Hermione, you have to let go of me, I was the one who was supposed to kill them.” 

“But did you?”

“W-Well, no, but not for lack of trying--”

“If it wasn’t you, who would it have been?” She looked up at him, face tear-stained and hair wild, and suddenly much closer than she’d ever been before and had any right to be. (And yet it felt so right.) “Dolohov? Yaxley? Or, Circe forbid, Bellatrix?”

His lips thinned. “Your ‘lesser evil’ argument is pretty flimsy.” 

She poked him in the chest. He made a very undignified angry noise. “Your ‘I’m evil’ argument is pretty flimsy.” 

“That is not true, nor a decent retort--”

“Wait.” She frowned, glanced up at him, and squinted really hard. “You have a car?”

He did. “No.”

“Yes, you do,” she insisted. “I saw it. The day after I got them to Australia, I was grabbing supplies from the house. It’s a black convertible. It was you!”

It definitely was him. “No.” 

“I didn’t know you had a car! Where do you even keep it? It wasn’t at Spinner’s End.” 

He pursed his lips into a very thin line. 

“I mean, classic convertible does seem your type. Not the stuff that says ‘my dick is tiny,’ but the stuff that says ‘I have taste’--”

Hermione Granger was talking about his dick. “My what is what?!”

She laughed. She fucking laughed at him. “You ever seen people with those really loud or really flashy cars, and they’re always being obnoxiously loud, and you’re just like ‘damn, you’re really overcompensating for something’?”

He did, actually. His lips pressed further together, which shouldn’t have been possible. 

“Those are the ‘I have a tiny dick’ cars. But your car isn’t one of those. It looked nice. Where do you keep it?” she repeated. 

“Parking garage in London,” he hissed. 

She leaned back, taking one of her arms from around his chest and burying it in his hair again. Gods that was nice. He’d been shampooing his own hair all his life, doing virtually the same action, so he didn’t know why it was so much nicer when she did it. He relaxed a little, closed his eyes. 

“If you tell anyone I’ll throttle you.” 

“That’s not much of a threat.” 

“I--What.” She was into that? Fuck. That was… hot. She’d trust him to do that? That was even hotter. He was very rapidly getting an erection and might need to leave soon. 

He would not touch her. He would not fuck her. Not until he could say, in truth, that he was a good man. 

Hermione grinned. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone. I’m keeping this one for blackmail.” 

Fuck, there was a thick Slytherin streak in her. Blood rushed to his face and to his prick, and Severus got up and promptly left to his private rooms to deal with himself, leaving a groaning Hermione in his wake.


	29. Chapter 29

Christmas at Grimmauld Place was good. Harry had been forced to make the gathering rather large, but only a small contingent were staying overnight, making the core of the group: Harry, Hermione, Ginny, Draco, Luna, Neville. And anyone who drank too much. 

Ron was not invited. Harry had put it forward to a vote and while Hermione had abstained, everyone else had voted unanimously to bar Ron from the house. 

Hermione and Ginny had offered to help Kreacher, as much and however he pleased, and the previously bad-tempered elf was starting to turn into a real sweetheart. He worked with Hermione on her mother’s chocolate cake, mixing up a delicious buttercream frosting. Hermione made certain that everyone thanked Kreacher for his cooking, harassing every guest who came through the door to show their appreciation to the elf. By the time the guests had gotten through with him, she swore he was blushing with happiness. 

Although Ron was barred, Arthur and Molly Weasley were allowed, along with the rest of the brood. Ginny had made it clear to them that Hermione was to be treated well, and while the brothers were happy to comply, Molly straight out ignored Hermione. It was only Hermione’s gentle coaxing that kept Harry from casting her out of the house entirely. Harry did, however, also ignore Molly, which she indignantly returned. 

Arthur pulled the two of them aside and into the library, shutting the doors behind him and coming over to sit across from them. “Can I trust you two to keep this private?”

Hermione and Harry glanced at each other. 

He offered them a tired smile. “It’s nothing illicit, I promise. I just… wanted to apologize for the abominable way that Molly has been treating you recently. Her and Ron have been… very difficult. Especially recently. I don’t understand why, and I’ll work on her, I promise.” 

“Mr. Weasley,” Hermione said, reaching out to pat his knee. “I hope it’s clear that Harry and I don’t blame you in the slightest for what’s going on.” 

Harry nodded. 

“You may not, but I am still involved, and it’s still a responsibility of mine.” He ran a hand through his hair, then rubbed his face, keeping his hands over his face for a moment. “I don’t know what I’ll do,” he murmured, his voice tight. 

“Mr. Weasley.” Harry moved over and squeezed Arthur in a side hug. “I hope it’s not an imposition to say that you’ve saved my life with your kindness more than once. I owe you immensely and I don’t want you to… feel obligated to harm your family for me.” 

“Agreed,” Hermione said. “We understand you’re in a tricky position.” 

He sighed. “I appreciate your selflessness, but it’s… It’s also an issue for Ginny. She came out to me, and… I don’t know how Molly will react.” He looked up at them, and his eyes were tired. “I was going to apologize to the two of you, and ask you if you could be there for Ginny for the inevitable fallout of whatever happens, not break down.” He laughed dryly. 

“Of course we’ll be there for Ginny!” both Hermione and Harry exclaimed as one.

Harry added, “Sir, Ginny is one of my closest friends and an absolute sweetheart, I want to be there for her and I’ll help however I can.” 

“Thank you,” Arthur murmured. “The rest of it, don’t worry about, alright? I just… please keep my daughter safe. You always have, but Merlin, everything keeps getting more complicated.” 

They emerged back into the crowd, and Ginny came over to ask her father about it. He gave her the gist, then asked that they all just try and have a happy Christmas. 

Ginny seemed nervous about the whole thing, and stuck close to Hermione after that. Neville, aware of the anxiety, also stuck around to provide a buffer. Thankfully, Ginny’s brothers (save Ron) were much better-tempered than their mother, and seemed to be surreptitiously supporting her father. 

Hermione considered it a small miracle that they got through Christmas without someone starting a duel, and it was with great relief that she saw all of the Weasley clan out the door. 

Draco took a deep breath. “Damn. There was enough passive-aggression in that room to put my mother to shame.” 

Neville nodded, looking pale. “I need something stiffer than eggnog.”

They stayed up late drinking and reminiscing. The next day, Hermione returned to Hogwarts with her present for Severus and the remaining quarter of a cake. 

She practically skipped into the sitting room that they shared, startling him. He was in green flannel pants, a black bathrobe, and looked significantly hungover. He had a huge mug of coffee on him.

“Severus! Happy Christmas.” 

“O-Oh,” he said, blinking at her. “I didn’t realize you’d be back so early. Wouldn’t have stayed out so late. Minerva and Filius stay out far later than I’m accustomed to.” 

She smiled, sitting down next to him on the couch. “I’m sorry we didn’t get to spend Christmas together.”

Severus shook his head. “Potter invited me, but…” He grimaced. “I have no desire to deal with more Weasleys than Ginerva at this point. I’ve been informed that lighting them on fire is unwelcome, and quite frankly I have no idea how else to respond.” 

Who ever would’ve guessed that Severus Snape was a sweetheart? Hermione blushed and smiled up at him from beneath her lashes, watching how he seemed to get more nervous when she did that. “It’s probably better you didn’t. We barely prevented a duel as it was.” 

“That bad, huh?”

Hermione nodded, opening the tupperware and handing it to him, conjuring a pair of forks. While he tried it, she reached into her bag and pulled out his presents. 

“Oh! That reminds me.” He put the tupperware and coffee on the coffee table and disappeared into his room. 

Had he gotten her something? Hermione’s pulse suddenly kicked up as he returned with a pitcher of golden liquid and a pair of boxes. He’d changed out of the bathrobe into a black turtleneck sweater. He poured two glasses of the liquid, tossed in a cinnamon stick to each, and handed her one glass.

It was warm under her touch. 

“Hopefully it’s decent,” he said as he sat back down. “I couldn’t quite remember the original recipe, so I had to improvise a little, but I felt it… presentable.” 

Hermione stirred what must’ve been apple cider and took a sip through the roll of cinnamon bark. It was warm and delicious and tasted of sweetly tangy apples. “Severus, this is amazing!”

He beamed, and she wasn’t sure she’d ever seen him look so self-satisfied. “The recipe is… ah, Mrs. Evans’,” he admitted. “Lily brought me to help with it one year.”

“It’s a wonder you remembered it at all.” Hermione ignored the fluttering of her heart. Lily was an essential part of his early life. She recalled his patronus, now a raven. There was no need to get jealous or nervous. 

“I’ve always had an affinity for recipes.” His fingers drummed on the glass, a tick she had noticed when he got nervous or thought too hard about the past. Holding up his hand, he summoned a bottle of firewhiskey from across the room. “This, however, is a purely Prince addition,” he said, adding a substantial glug of alcohol.

Hermione arched a brow. “This early too, huh?”

He laughed, swirling the drink with the cinnamon and leaving the whiskey where they could both reach it. “That’s the most appropriate part. Have as much as you like, although I’d understand if you don’t want to start this early.” 

Although she laughed along with him, Hermione felt the worry twist in her stomach. “Is this how your Christmas break normally goes?”

“Oh, yes.” He looked quite satisfied, then glanced over at her and frowned. “Don’t be so worried. Oblivion is a welcome relief.” 

“I just don’t like the thought of you alone and drunk in this huge place,” she said, placing a hand on his knee.

“Don’t worry, Minerva and Filius help with the getting drunk.” He shrugged. “Besides, what else is there to do?”

Hermione paused, and then decided. “Well, today we’re going to unwrap presents and then glamour ourselves and laugh at Harry as he has to give a speech at the Ministry,” she said.

“We?” He arched a brow.

Ignoring his hesitation, Hermione ploughed on. “And then tomorrow you’re going to take me to Australia.”

“I am, am I?”

She nodded. “Sure, I’ll have to sob and cry for some of the time, but I think a little tourism would help cheer me considerably, don’t you?”

He turned to look at her. “Hermione, I don’t want to intrude--”

“You’re not,” she replied. “After all, you’re the host--I’m just your guest.”

He paused, then snorted. “I suppose I’ll have to see if I have any clothes appropriate for the weather in Australia.”

“Oh, don’t say that too loud, or else Draco will hear you. Now eat some cake and open your gifts!”

“Bossy,” he grumbled fondly, reaching over and grabbing the cake, while she dumped presents on him. “Merlin, Hermione, how many bloody things did you get--?!”

“Don’t worry,” she said dismissively. “They’re just a lot of small things.” She could practically see his blood pressure and panic rising. She knew he wasn’t used to gifts--that was why she had let him open the blender without her there--but she couldn’t help herself. “I stole a lot of coupons from the Boy Who Received Far Too Many Promotional Offers, don’t worry.”

He laughed, but it was nervous, as he set down the apple cider and picked up a long, rectangular box. “I… Alright.”

She laid a hand on his shoulder, the hand not holding her apple cider. “You don’t have to open them all while I’m here. I know you get uncomfortable about that.” 

“N-No, this is fine.” He seemed to be convincing himself as much as her. She scooted over to lean against him and put an arm around him. He took a deep breath. “Okay.” 

He began to carefully pull away the wrapping paper, and she watched with fascination as his meticulous, slender, artful fingers pulled apart tape and paper. The first gift was a roll of saran wrap. 

“What is this?” he murmured. 

“A wonderful Muggle invention called plastic wrap,” she explained, pulling off a square and showing how she could use it to seal the tupperware of cake. “See? Airtight. Disposable. Sticks to itself. A little more flexible than corks of different sizes.” 

“Huh,” he said, but it sounded more interested and bemused than confused or dismissive. “I’ll have to see how it does against potion vapors, but it could at least be useful in the kitchen.” 

“Exactly.” 

She’d also gotten him a bag of ziploc baggies, which his eyes gleamed at as he realized how to zip things up. Half of the reason for her purchases had just been because she wanted to watch him figure them out. He was so abominably cute when he was curious or learning, and she’d murder whoever told the young Severus that he wasn’t allowed to enjoy learning as a kid. 

There was also a very nice fountain pen, with a refillable ink cartridge. She’d charmed it to automatically refill itself, giving him a pen that had a cap and he didn’t have to dip. Watching him twirl his fingers over the polished black stone surface did strange things to her insides. Those fingertips were so dextrous… and so distracting. 

The second-to-last gift was a stack of muggle notepads, printed in a variety of styles. One was a “Passive Aggressive Note,” which included a large checklist of how people fucked up and space to elaborate. There were also “Bitch Citations” and one that just said “SHIT” across the top. He laughed aloud upon unwrapping them, and immediately pulled open the plastic of the Passive Aggressive Note to uncap his fountain pen and get to work. 

“Minerva will get so tired of these so quickly, I’m going to fucking plaster the school with them,” he said, scribbling something down in his sharp, defined hand. “Damn, this pen writes so well.” 

** _PASSIVE AGGRESSIVE NOTE_ **

** _Dear:_ ** _ Hermione_

_ **You may want to consider: ** _

He stopped at the checklist for that question, tapping his lip with the pen’s end as he thought. There was a slight smirk on his lips, and Hermione wished she could capture that moment forever. His eyes danced with that evil little glimmer of Severus finding something immensely amusing. 

He finally put an X next to _“reassessing your priorities.”_

** _It would be a shame if someone had to: _ **

He took considerably less time to put an X next to the option for _“sulk.”_ He also selected the blank space, and then added, _“take five points from Gryffindor for dawdling.” _

Hermione cackled as he grinned, tearing off the note and sticking it to her sweater with a sticking charm. “Sev, I love it! Here, let me do one for you.” She held out her hands, and he gave her the pen and the BITCH CITATION. 

“I want to see you do that one,” he said with a small smile. Hermione’s heart fluttered. He was trusting her to be gentle. 

The BITCH CITATION just had a long checklist of adjectives followed by the word bitch. Hermione selected “dysfunctional bitch,” “know-it-all bitch,” “silver-tongued bitch,” and was deliberating over any else that she wanted to mark down. 

“Okay, I object to know-it-all bitch. That’s you, not me. And you forgot to mark pretentious bitch. Do they have a spot for greasy, too?” 

She laughed. “I’ll mark down pretentious, but I’m not putting down greasy. That’s patently false, it’s just potions fumes.” 

Severus snorted. “If you insist.”

“I do insist.” She selected the blank spot and wrote in _“Slytherin.”_ The next selection was a sentence that let you chose between **_“BUT YOU ARE_**_ [] SO / [] SO NOT **MY BITCH.”**_ Obviously, she chose SO MY BITCH, signed her name under the “From” section, and then tore it off and stuck it on his chest with a charm of its own. He beamed at it, obviously satisfied. 

“I can’t wait to stick these on colleague’s foreheads,” he said with a little devilish grin. “Merlin, can you imagine Minerva in her cat form with one of these stuck on her? She would hate me forever.” He laughed as he set the notes and pen on the side table.

“You’re evil,” she said, lovingly. “Now open your last present.”

He hesitated. She saw the uncertainty flicker in his eyes. “Why don’t you open yours first?” he asked, quietly. “I’d…” 

She leaned in, brushing his hair with her fingers, so he couldn’t hide behind its protective curtain. “Sev? What’s wrong?”

“I’m bad at gifts,” he whispered, looking pleadingly into her eyes. “And you’re good at them, and I’m going to disappoint.” 

“Sev,” Hermione sighed, stroking the backs of her fingers against his cheek. “Weren’t you the very same person who told me ‘it’s the thought that counts’?”

He glanced away, and was silent. 

“You don’t get to hold double standards for yourself, silly,” she murmured. “And besides. You managed to fucking remember--somehow, I’ve got no idea how you survived my boring droning on--that I missed apple cider at Christmas, and that’s incredibly thoughtful already, so thank you for it. I’m absolutely certain that your gifts will be incredibly thoughtful. And I will treasure them because they come from you, and you were thinking of me, and that means a lot.”

His cheeks were pink now, and he still hadn’t looked at her. “You’re not boring,” he mumbled. 

“Yes I am. And you’re dodging the point. Now I’ll open your gifts next if you want, but just… it’s not a competition, okay? Unless you’re Ginny Weasley. Then it’s a competition.”

He glanced up at her, finally. A little smile quirked on to his face. “Alright.”

“I open next?” she inquired, when he made no move for his final gift. 

He nodded. 

She pulled over the packages he had for her. The topmost was a single piece of paper, indicating the purchase of a life’s supply of red ink. She snorted a laugh. “Setting me up for success early, I see.” 

Severus was silent, but nodded, looking pleased at her smile. 

The next was a small potion that was clearly made by him. She gently pried the vial open and sniffed it before closing it again. 

“It will give you selective hearing. If anyone says something vapid or ill-informed in your presence, it’ll replace their voice with soothing classical music. Debussy and Chopin, mainly.” 

Hermione cackled, resting her head against his shoulder as she held up the potion to the light. “So drink it if I want a day with nothing but calming music?”

“A few of my remarks might make it past,” he said with a small grin. 

“A day of beautiful music and your beautiful baritone. Sounds perfect to me.” She didn’t need to look to know he was blushing aggressively, she could hear it in the way the aforementioned beautiful baritone was spluttering, so she put the potion down on the table. 

The next gift was a beautiful ebony box, decorated with an inset of sunstone carved into a lioness. Hermione swept her fingers over the smooth surface, reverent, and gently pried it open to see inside. Maroon velvet cushioned a complete potioneer’s kit, with stir rods of different materials, knives of different shapes and sizes, and--she realized with a squeak of glee--a special pair of slots for two additions: a stainless steel garlic press and lemon juicer. 

“Severus, this is gorgeous!” 

“I figured you might need the full set soon.”

She ran her fingers over the implements, then leaned over to hug him. “Thank you.”

“You’re not done yet.”

“I know,” she said, looking up at him, “But I can say thank you as many times as I please.” 

“Oh dear please don’t,” he mumbled, looking away with bright cheeks. “I think I might die.” She laughed and squeezed him tight for a moment before letting him go. 

“Fine, you win this time.” She put the set on the coffee table, which was where all of their opened gifts went, and turned to the final gift. 

It was book-shaped and book-sized, so definitely a book. “Be gentle with this one,” he said. She nodded, and was extra careful as she unwrapped it. There were two books, stacked together.

The topmost book was the text on memory potions, the very same one he’d let her borrow (and she’d returned) forever ago. “Sev!” she gasped, turning it over. “How many people did you hex to get this imported?”

“Just the original seventeen,” he said. “I figured, I’m not using it much and you’ll need it a lot for your Mastery. Besides, it seemed foolish to have a duplicate in our collections, since you practically run rampant over mine already.” 

Hermione laughed, but the words drew an impossible hope inside of her. He had just implied the joining of their collections. To a bibliophile that was a step that was an incomparable devotion. _Marriage_ was secondary to collection-mixing. “Thank you.”

“Yes, yes.” He waved a hand dismissively. 

The second book was another text, in French. The title translated roughly to ‘On the Reversal of Charms by Potions and Infusions.’ She gasped, turning it over in her hands. This looked ancient. Very ancient. “And how many did you hex for this one?”

“Twenty-six,” he replied, and shuffled around, pulling a stack of papers out from beneath it. “I’ve translated it to the best of my ability. The original French is Canadian, it was recorded by an explorer who visited and befriended a great number of Native American wizards and witches. Unfortunately, we don’t have the account in their original language and have to rely on his words.”

Hermione looked over the translation. It must’ve taken him hours. “Thank you,” she said, again. “My French is abysmal--we visited once when I was eight--and this’ll be a big help.” Her fingers itched to start reading already, and she leafed through the translation, eye gleaming at the pages. Looking over at him, she smiled. “Let’s skip Harry’s speech and stay in. Cuddle and read, but you have to open your last present first.”

He grumbled something about being bossy, then turned to his gift, unwrapping it. 

It was a muggle box and muggle tech. He opened the box and carefully held up the tablet, nosing at it interestedly. “What is it?”

“It’s called an e-reader,” she explained, pressing the button to turn it on. “You can put a bunch of digital books on it and carry them around without muggles noticing--and you can download--I mean…” She drifted off to find a better word. 

“I know what download means.”

“Oh thank goodness. I charmed it so you can download new ones whenever you like, if you’re too busy to go to the library. Obviously the large majority will be muggle texts, but they have some decent classics, so I thought you’d get good use out of it.” 

His eyes gleamed. “You mean this is a lightweight portable library? And I don’t have to leave my room? Or _talk_ to _anyone?”_

She grinned, a little shy about the fact that she’d given him only muggle things. It was just so tempting. He was clever with how he used them and absolutely accepting of their place in his life. “Yes.”

“That’s brilliant,” he said. “I’ve never been prouder of my muggle heritage. We are _definitely_ staying in.”


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for no update yesterday! Finals season. You know how it is!

When they portkeyed into Sydney, Hermione sighed and looked around. They’d gotten up at four in the morning to be in Sydney at a decent time. It was bright, sunny, and in the middle of summer. “Gosh, it’s gorgeous here. If only I knew where my parents--” It was then that she turned to Severus. 

He’d transfigured his clothes into a Slytherin-green Hawaiian shirt and khaki pants. The shirt was long-sleeved, and he wore it over a white undershirt. Aviators covered his face. He held out another pair of sunglasses, cateyes rather than aviators, to her. 

“Here,” he said. “Your mission, if you choose to accept it, is to find ‘Mr. and Mrs. Wilkins.’”

Hermione doubled over laughing, first at his words, and then at his attire. “Sev, a Hawaiian shirt? I never thought I’d see the day. I--wait, you’ve seen Mission Impossible?”

She could tell he was looking away even if the sunglasses saved his ass. “Maybe.” 

Taking the sunglasses, she put them on. “This is incredible.” 

“I’m a professional spy,” he pouted, as he lead them out of the portkey point and into the greater city. 

They’d been dropped right next to a beachside, and the breeze coming off the water was wonderful. She took his arm as they walked through the sunny streets, and she was very glad that she’d dressed for the weather. She’d opted for a light blue flowy blouse and high-waisted khaki short shorts, which she was pretty sure Severus was currently ogling from behind the protection of his sunglasses. 

“Alright, professional spy,” she said with a grin as they walked through a shady grove. “What’s the plan?”

Severus pulled out a Blackberry and Hermione’s jaw nearly dropped. “I took the liberty of going through some of the… immigration records,” he said, pulling up a note to himself. “They’re in Sydney, the beach district, just a little south of here. Tracing spells should carry us the rest of the way.” 

“You’re brilliant,” Hermione murmured, snatching the Blackberry from him and looking at it. “How the hell did you even--”

“Tom was a piece of shit,” he said, “But I learned some valuable things about navigating governments, muggle or otherwise, underneath him.” He glanced at her. “You didn’t think he just avoided the law, did you? He exploited it.” Severus looked up, towards the horizon, as they continued south. “Yaxley and I were his two favorite system-breakers. I researched into this last night, after you passed out from two glasses of spiked cider.”

She was about to retort. Then he reached up and touched her glasses. 

At his touch, a charm activated over the lenses. Suddenly she could see a pair of ghostly blue tracks, tracks they were following. 

“Are those--”

“Your parents, yes. I used your hair to set the tracking charm up.” 

She nearly stopped walking as she stared at him. “Hot.”

“Oh, we can take a bus--”

“No,” she replied. “Not the weather. You.” 

He spluttered a little and mumbled a reply. 

With a grin, she tugged him along.

The trails of her parents lead into a dinner restaurant, and Hermione was quietly glad. They hadn’t had breakfast yet. He looked down at her. 

“Are you up for going in?” he asked. “I can… convince him to seat us next to your parents.” The rich and meaningful tone of his voice indicated that not only was he incredibly hot, he was going to be using legilimency. 

She squared her jaw. “Yeah. I can do this. Can you read them while we’re in there, see how badly the memories are erased?”

“I was going to offer exactly that. I am not eager to have you trying untrained legilimency again.” She opened her mouth to grumble, but he held up a finger. “If you want training, you only need ask. But for now, I’ll perform the mind-fuckery.” 

Her heart fluttered. He was offering to tutor her in legilimency, and with it, probably occlumency too. “Okay.”

“I don’t know how far I’ll be able to get without alerting them, and I’m not going to take risks.” 

She squeezed his arm. “That’s fine. I appreciate that you’d try. Let’s do this.” 

“Get a table for us, while I focus on nudging his mind,” Severus whispered as they stepped inside. 

So he’d be distracted? Maybe she could cause a little trouble. Just a little. 

They entered a little buffet place and the man behind the counter smiled at them. “Afternoon,” he said. “Can I help you, miss?”

“Mrs., actually,” Hermione replied with a smile, shaking her head to wave away the waiter’s apology as Severus tripped over himself, coincidentally and completely unrelated to her words. “Don’t worry, happens a lot.” Pushing her sunglasses up to her head, she smiled at the waiter as sweetly as she could. “Table for two, please.” 

The waiter guided them over to a table. Hermione’s gut constricted as she realized they’d be within earshot and view of her parents. She took the seat that could only hear them, and not see them. The waiter dropped menus, poured ice water, and promised someone would be over to serve them shortly.

As he left, Severus leaned in. “Fucking hell, witch,” he hissed, taking off his glasses and covering his very red face. The aviators clattered to the table. “Are you trying to kill me?”

“Sunburnt, sweetheart?” Hermione asked with a perfect smile as she pushed over a glass of ice water to him. “I know your skin reacts awfully to the sun.” 

Severus groaned. “I nearly fucked up the legilimency.”

“I thought you enjoyed a challenge,” she retorted wickedly, taking a sip of her own water. 

“I am going to die,” he breathed, as if it were a realization he was just coming to. “I have survived the war, only to die miserably in Australia.” 

“Doesn’t have to be miserable--”

“Gods, woman.”

She couldn’t help a giggle. He was so easy to rile up. “The war would’ve been so different if I realized your weakness a year or two earlier.” 

“I am infinitely glad you didn’t.” He ran both his hands through his hair, before taking a drink of water. “You would’ve killed me.” 

She reached out and patted his hand, then realized something even more wicked. “Oh, I nearly forgot.” 

He arched a brow at her. 

“If we’re married, we need wedding bands.”

“Excuse me, I need to exit through this window here and drown myself in the Pacific. It’s urgent.” He hid his face behind his hands again. “You know, Hermione, with the way fate likes to piss on me, I bet I’ll accidentally open up your parents’ memories in the middle of this diner, your father will realize I’m pretending to be married to you, and gut me on the spot.” 

Hermione sipped her water. “That’d never happen. It’s too quick of an end.”

He gave her a Look that was equal parts fond and exasperated. “You are evil. The Hat must’ve been mistaken, you’ve got too thick a stripe of Slytherin in you to be a Gryffindor.”

She leaned over and stroked a finger down the crook of his nose. “Not the only thick Slytherin object I would like in me--”

Severus got up and left the table. She giggled as he retreated into the men’s room. 

He came back fifteen minutes later, right as a waitress came to ask what they wanted to drink. 

“A pot of coffee would be wonderful,” Hermione said, smiling sweetly at the waitress. “My husband might have something else to order, he’s in the restroom right--”

“Coffee’s fine, thank you,” Severus said, plopping back down in his seat and shooting her a thinly veiled Look. 

Hermione covered her smile with a sip of water as the waitress took down their order and left. 

“You’re incorrigible,” Severus muttered, taking another drink of his water.

“I’ve been told I’m very stubborn, and get what I want, like a princess,” she informed him smugly. He rolled his eyes. “But don’t worry. I won’t distract you while you mess around in minds anymore.” 

“Good. I nearly fell over.”

“Falling for me, Sev? You’re so sweet--”

He groaned, covering his face again. “Hush, witch, I’m doing magic now.” It sounded more like a pout than an order, but Hermione obeyed. 

She’d been hitting on him for two reasons. The first and primary reason was because she wanted to. The second was because it distracted her from the obvious fear and anxiety that hunted her whenever her parents were in the picture. 

Apparently he sensed this, because despite his words, he reached across the table and took one of her hands, rubbing his thumb along the back of her hand as he closed his eyes, and whispered the spell. 

He was good, looking like he was listening to her as she split her attention between babbling and secretly listening in on her parents’ conversation. She paused to thank the waitress for the coffee she dropped off, pouring two cups (three sugars for Severus, two for her) and then fell silent as her parents’ conversation shifted. 

“I’ve been thinking,” said her mother, nervously. “What would you think about a daughter? I know we’re a bit old, but I’ve just felt like a piece of myself is missing, and I really think that we could support a child. We could adopt if necessary.” 

“I was actually going to ask you the same thing later this week,” came her father’s voice, in the tone that Hermione knew indicated he was blushing. “I’ve always wanted a daughter. We’ve just moved here, and it’s so beautiful, I’d love a child to share it with.”

Severus opened his eyes, and obsidian pierced into her and her giggly confidence. Hermione shut her own eyes, unable to face him. 

“You got them good,” he said, chuckling mirthlessly as he took a sip of his coffee. “But I can… I can feel it. The memories are still there. They both noticed you when you walked in with me, thought you were familiar, but couldn’t place you.” 

Hermione let out the breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. He squeezed her hand. “Thank fuck,” she mumbled. “I can fix it.” 

He shrugged. “You didn’t mess anything up. The spell was perfectly performed.” His dark eyes glimmered with amusement over the rim of the coffee mug. “As always.”

She smiled. He was trying to comfort her, even after she’d been an ass all day by hitting on him. 

Severus nudged a menu towards her. “You’d better pick something to order quickly, before our waitress comes back. Let’s have dinner, and then we can see the sights or go home, knowing your parents are okay.”

“They want another daughter,” Hermione murmured. “A Hermione they can keep.” 

“They can keep you, too.” He paused. “As long as they promise to share with me. My point is, you should let them make that decision themselves.” He squeezed her hand. “And I think that given the choice, they would love to have you back in their lives.” 

Hermione wasn’t so sure, but come the end of their day in Sydney, she was still considerably relieved that her parents were safe and that everything _could_ be fixed.


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a celebration for me surviving finals, have an extra long double-ish update. I've also updated the fic's summary in celebration. It's a good deal more tongue-in-cheek now, which contrasts aggressively with the first couple chapters, but definitely fits in with the later stuff so I'm okay with it. (Even if the later stuff has very little to do with the cat and the necromancer. Shh, I'm ignoring pacing and I'm awful, I know.)
> 
> Also I'm running out of buffer & holidays means less time to write so expect less frequent updates soon. Sorry D:

“I swear to Circe, Draco, you need to convince your godfather to be okay with physical contact soon or else I’m going to go insane.” 

Hermione was about to pull her hair out. She, Harry, Draco, Ginny, and Luna were sitting around the living room at Grimmauld Place. It was New Year’s Eve, and Hermione had still not managed to get Severus to shag her. For all of winter break, they’d had daily shared lunches and dinners, and he had even started initiating contact. But while he clearly was smitten (if she needed any more clues, he’d started picking up her favorite cookies) and he got very clearly turned on, he was also holding himself back. 

“He still hasn’t shagged you?!” Draco looked affronted. 

“No! It’s fucking infuriating! Or rather, I wish it were fucking infuriating, because he’s infuriating, and then I could finally bloody shag him!”

“That was a bit of a stretched pun, Hermione,” Ginny said.

Draco paused, tapping his lip thoughtfully. “Okay. I have a very devious Slytherin plan.”

“That’s just a bad sentence in general,” Harry muttered, having another one of Kreacher’s teacakes. They were absolutely delicious, and all of them had complimented and thanked him endlessly, asking how they could show their gratitude. It ended up that Ginny had gone out to get more baking supplies, and now the grumpy elf was quite enthusiastic about giving them some more baked treats. 

“You know how we’re going to that New Year’s Eve party tonight?” Draco asked. 

“No, I forgot the entire reason we’re all here.” 

Draco raised a finger. “Don’t get your panties in a wad just because you haven’t had a good shag in… actually Granger have you ever had a shag?”

Hermione shrugged. “Couple times. Nothing to write home about.”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t wanna hear about Ron’s business anyway.”

“Wasn’t with him.”

“Wait, you didn’t fuck Carrottop?” Draco asked, looking pleasantly surprised. “Krum, was it?”

She shook her head. “Alice Hightower. She and I had a… brief friends-with-benefits situation over the summer after the war. It was sort of just a thing we both needed, and very transactional.” 

“She’s still quite fond of you,” Luna murmured. 

“Thank you, Oracle of Delphi,” Draco said, and although it sounded sassy, it was also clearly a compliment. Luna smiled. “I’ll just… casually drop the fact that we’re going out tonight, and that you’ll be all made up again.” 

“Will that work?” Hermione asked. 

“I mean, I don’t know if he’ll shag you. But I can guarantee he’ll show up. Might even dance. He likes swing.”

“Snape likes swing?” Ginny wrinkled her nose, stuffing her mouth with another teacake. “That’s a unique concept.” 

“He’s excellent at it,” Draco said, in his high-handed way, that he used to use when namedropping and now just used when being a little shit. “Even better than waltzing. And we all know how much Hermione loves to waltz with my godfather.” 

“Draco, you have so many daddy issues,” Harry said. 

“Shut up, Potter.” 

“You would too, if your father was a megalomaniacal sociopathic blood purist fuckhead that emotionally abused you from a young age,” Luna said, in the same dreamy cadence as always. 

Dead silence.

Draco burst out laughing, reaching over to hug Luna, closely followed by Harry falling out of his chair in hysterics. Hermione had to sit down before she peed herself.

Luna looked around at them, startled. “Oh, did I say that out loud?” she asked. “I’m sorry, Draco.” 

“Never apologize,” Draco wheezed, wiping away tears as he continued to hug her. “Never. Fucking. Apologize.”

“Luna, I didn’t even think you KNEW the word fuckhead!” Ginny giggled.

Luna frowned at her, smiling faintly but still looking a little confused. “I thought we established that I knew a lot of unexpected things.” 

The afternoon devolved into banter and pregaming and Draco dramatically reading his letter to Severus about how Draco _must steal away Hermione_ for they were going to attend _a party at Mystique, a wizard-friendly gay bar_ located at _26 North Harpshire Street in London,_ about _two blocks north-northeast from Diagon Alley,_ and how that party happened to _begin at 9PM_ and was _roaring twenties themed_ and they expected to be _swing dancing and drinking late_ into the morning and Draco just _KNEW_ that it wasn’t Severus’ type of scene.

Ginny cackled into her drink. “I thought you snakes were supposed to be subtle! It sounds like you’re trying to bludgeon him!”

“If I were any more subtle, my blockheaded godfather would think I was trying to pair Hermione off with some fresh young thing.” Draco sealed the letter with a flourish and sent it off with an owl. “Now, do you think we could persuade Kreacher to make us supper, or shall we go out?”

***

Severus didn’t know what he was doing here. 

Well. Actually, he did. He knew exactly what he was doing here. 

He was giving in to temptation. Draco’s invitation had stirred up a fierce longing in his heart. There were few things he enjoyed, and even fewer dances that he enjoyed, but if he had to pick a favorite it would be swing. And he enjoyed Hermione, too, he supposed. 

But he was prepared to pin it entirely on the swing. 

He would still not allow Hermione to be with a man who was not good, so he’d decided for that night--he would be a good man. So Simon Fairweather was born. He kept his age about the same, but a batch of his special Polyjuice recipe gave him greater flexibility with his glamors. He lessened the awful hook of a nose (which had always been his greatest anxiety) and lightened and shortened his hair, making it dark brown with a streak of grey from the temples. Dark eyes, still. She seemed to like them. He could never be certain. 

Draco had gone dithering on for another three paragraphs about roaring twenties men’s fashion, which could be passed off as Draco being Draco until one noticed how bloody helpful he was being. A few transfigurations later, and Severus had an admirable roaring twenties costume. It’d be much nicer than any of the muggles at the party, that was for certain. 

And then he set out. 

He’d gotten one of the purple bands that indicated wizards, and set up camp at a table adjacent to the wall. It was positioned so that he could watch the entrance, all while keeping people from sneaking up from behind him. He saw her as soon as she entered. 

She was a vision. A vision in emerald, Slytherin green. Damn Malfoy and his boutiques. The dress was beaded in geometric details with black beads or sequins that shimmered green-blue in the light, and ended just above her knees, with black tassels going below them. As she spun around to talk to Harry, he realized her dress was absolutely backless, and the string of black pearls that he’d thought was a simple necklace actually draped down her back in a long strand. The black opera gloves added elegance, and he knew why she wore them, but they were still gorgeous, they enhanced the slender grace of her limbs. Her hair was up in a bun that looked like a chrysanthemum, pulled to the left side of her head. She was also wearing a black headband that sparkled with rhinestones, and--on the right side of her head--had a little flourish of emerald and a raven feather. 

Raven feather. His bloody patronus. Ex-patronus, now. It was a clear sign. 

The other girls were pretty too, he supposed. Luna was wearing a dress that was ephemeral pale green and made of this wispy fabric, with side panels that, when she spread her arms, made her look like a luna moth. Clever. Her headband had little antennae that were definitely her style. Ginny wore a full tux, complete with curled hair and a hat. 

He didn’t even pay attention to the boys. Draco was looking around, presumably for him, but Severus ignored him, instead slipping up to the bar--presumably to order drinks. 

Luna popped up next to him. “Evening, professor.” 

Of course bloody Luna knew it was him. He held a finger to his lips. “Don’t tell.”

Luna laughed. “Oh, don’t worry, she’ll know it’s you. No need to get jealous of yourself.” 

Severus frowned. How would Hermione…?

As if sensing his question, Luna smiled. “If she can’t identify your scowl, I know for a fact she’s memorized your scent. I’ll be dancing if you need me, sir.” 

Ugh. He watched Hermione as he waited for the bartender to notice him. She was looking around, and--

Gold. He was snared by those damnably gold eyes. Fuck. He offered her a weak smile, then turned to the bartender. 

It was Hermione’s turn to pop up beside him. She offered him a smile, but appeared to be waiting for the bartender too. 

“Sorry for staring,” he said, speaking with an American accent. Simon was American. That would give him an out after a night. She smiled at him, absolutely no trace of recognition in her eyes. “You just look familiar. Do I know you from somewhere?”

She laughed, holding up her wristband noticeably as she brushed a piece of hair out of her face. “I was involved in the recent restoration projects,” she explained. “Made it into a few papers, that might be where you know me from.” She held out her hand. “Jean.” 

_Hermione Jean Granger… _

“Simon,” he said. Fuck. She knew it was him, and she was playing along? Humoring him? No… she was smiling. She was enjoying this? This was suddenly more than just one nervous spy’s cover. Now it was Hermione, dipping her toes into his game to make him more comfortable. 

Or less comfortable. He hadn’t decided yet. 

“What brings you to this side of the pond?” Hermione asked, as the bartender got their drinks ready. Severus slid him something with a murmur to pay for hers too, and she flushed. “Thank you.” 

“Work,” he replied with a rueful grin. Was this what he could’ve done, had he been born to a different life? He’d escaped like this into a persona before, but never with someone by his side. Always alone. “Nothing interesting. Just, ah…” He glanced around pointedly at the muggles, “I work selling pharmaceuticals.” 

“Really?” Her eyes were dazzling when her smile reached them. Severus’ heart hurt. She knew it was him, but he wished it would’ve been this easy. “I’m working on a master’s in chemistry right now.” Her head tilted to the side, and she looked up from beneath those damned eyelashes. “Do you dance?”

“Yes, although I make no claims to being a truly excellent dancer.” 

“Nonsense,” she said. “I bet you’re just fine. I’ve never tried swing, will you teach me the steps?”

Severus downed the rest of his drink, and held out his hand. 

Hermione took to swing naturally, and she said she enjoyed it much more than a waltz. He wasn’t sure he’d ever danced or laughed as much in his life. Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was the fact that he didn’t have to be himself that night. Maybe it was his company. It was nice. He’d escaped, from the wrongs and regrets of Severus, into someone who was what he might’ve been, if he hadn’t messed things up. 

Then it was ten minutes to midnight. 

They retreated to a spot against the wall and not far from the table that the other troublemakers had reserved, and while Hermione gave them a wave, she didn’t move to stand with them. Instead, they turned to the telly as the news announced the New Year’s Parade, with a dazzling flashing countdown. 

11:59. Hermione whirled to face him, and two warm hands held his jaw, snaking up and burying themselves in his hair. “New year, new you,” she whispered, looking at him so adoringly he knew she was well aware who was behind the mask. 

He placed his hands on her hips and pulled her close against him. “Soon,” he replied. “I promise. I… need to be better, to earn you. You deserve that. I wouldn’t have you any other way.”

“If you insist; I’ll wait for you,” she said.

His heart throbbed, as if it was trying to leap out of his chest and join her, since it belonged to her already. “You don’t have to. I could never ask that of you.” 

“You’re not asking,” she replied as the countdown soared. “I’m telling you. Dip me, Severus.” 

He did. 

Their lips met on the cheer of the New Year, her hand cradling his face and other arm on his shoulder. She was warm and tasted of honey and apricot, and the heat that emanated from their contact suffused his body wholly in a rush of elation. She slipped her tongue out to taste his lips, and then pulled back as the cheering died down. He pulled her up out of the dip and against him, resting his forehead against hers. 

“Bossy little chit,” he murmured. 

She grinned, and shrugged, sneaking in for another peck. Damn her. He hadn’t even been intending to kiss her tonight, it had just happened, and now twice. “Happy New Year.” 

“Happy New Year,” he replied, and arched a brow, which made her flush beautifully. “Jean.” 

She laughed again, and twined her arms around his neck. “You have another dance or two in you?”

“Damn, do you really enjoy the swing that much?”

Shrugging, she winked at him. “You smile a lot while you dance it. So yes.”

Severus frowned, and she laughed, rubbing her thumb over the wrinkles. “It must be the alcohol,” he decided. His arms had not moved from when he’d wrapped them around her and pulled her tight against him. She was not protesting. 

“We can one or two more drinks, too.” She paused, and tapped his nose with one velvet-gloved finger. “I miss your nose.” 

He wrinkled his face at that. “I don’t.”

“It’s the best nose.” 

“And you are the worst liar.” 

“I’m telling the truth!” 

Severus hummed, stroking her bare back with his thumb. “You always did have abysmal taste in men.” 

She tapped his nose again. “Five points from Gryffindor for dawdling,” she parrotted, and he rolled his eyes. “I think my tastes have matured.” She leaned in and tugged at his lip with her teeth. 

“Your tastes have gotten _worse,”_ Severus muttered, but chased her as she pulled away, kissing her again. He could feel her smile at the touch. 

“I beg to differ.” 

He arched a brow, and the gesture made her lick her lips. Oh. He could feel the heat rising and pooling. “Beg, hmm?”

“Oh yes,” she replied, tracing a velvet-covered thumb over his lips. “Beg, plead, prostrate--”

“Sweet Merlin, witch,” he exhaled. “You weren’t supposed to hit on me _back.” _

She laughed at him, then kissed him on the forehead. “Let’s get more drinks. I can introduce Simon to the rest if you’d like, and then I want to dance again. I’m going to make certain you enjoy your night out.” 

“See? Bossy,” he said with a roll of his eyes, as he released her to take her arm and lead her towards the bar. 

He declined introductions to the rest of the group, not wanting to appear foolish in front of them, but they all raised their glasses when he glanced their way, so he was pretty sure they knew and approved at the very least. 

They danced basically until the club was chasing people out. As the troublemakers left, Hermione hung back, dressed in a gorgeous white fur coat that Draco must’ve lent her. 

He stopped in front of an alley. “This is me,” he said. 

She stepped in front of him, breath misting in the air. “I don’t suppose I’ll see you around, Simon?”

He smiled, but shook his head. “I’m just visiting. I’m sorry.” 

“Mmm. Can’t blame a girl for trying.” She smiled. “I guess you’ll just be the one who got away.” 

Severus leaned in. “Trust me, Hermione,” he murmured, “I am very much caught.” Then he kissed her, soft and chaste, on the lips, her warmth lingering as he pulled away. “Good night.” 

Her warmth continued to linger as he climbed into bed and fell asleep.


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my lovelies! I apologize for the very long break between updates. Holidays, some job shadowing, and then an intersession course all kicked in. I've got a week or so until my last semester of college begins, so I'm hoping to have enough of a buffer to update regularly once the semester starts up again (on both fics). This update has been slightly delayed because there was a scene I needed to add in, but there's a lot more buffer afterwards so once I wrap that writing up I should be good for a bit!

It was two weeks later when Hermione was awakened by pounding on her door. She checked her wards. Harry. Had she overslept her alarms? Flicking open the door, she rolled upright and yawned. 

“What’s wrong?” she asked. 

He was grinning like a lunatic. “Hermione! Luna just gave me this, early delivery--breakfast is going to be wild--you’ve got to read it.” 

He practically threw a copy of the Quibbler at her. 

Sunday edition. A photo of Severus Snape adorned the front page, but it wasn’t front and center. It was to the side--where the photo of the front page article’s author went. He was holding up one bared forearm, the scar of the faded Dark Mark clearly visible, his face an impassive mask. 

** _COMPLICIT_ ** _  
INSPIRED BY THE WORDS & WORKS OF HERMIONE GRANGER_

> Today the Quibbler is honored to present the first of an exclusive series of articles by guest author Severus Snape, O.M. (First Class), Potions Master of Hogwarts, and renowned ex-Death Eater, who served as a spy for Headmaster Dumbledore’s Order of the Phoenix during the last two wars. 

“He didn’t tell me about this!” she gasped.

It explained a lot. Severus had been unusually withdrawn lately, and spent an inordinate amount of time writing things down while he let her prepare for classes and make test brews. Whenever she initiated conversation, he was pleasant and helpful enough, but seemed so wrapped up in his work that she’d been afraid to pester him. He’d also kept leaving Hogwarts for reasons that he wouldn’t disclose. 

It was because he was writing a bloody series for the Quibbler. 

“I figured!” Harry said. “Keep reading!”

> I first met Tom Riddle when I was fifteen years old. 
> 
> It was another three years until I took the Dark Mark, at the beginning of the First Wizarding War. This branding remains one of my worst memories, eclipsed only by a similarly torrential mistake that drove the now-famous Lily Potter to rightfully hate me. 
> 
> At the recent Ministry ball, the eminent Miss Granger said that we as a wizarding community must acknowledge that scars are “marks of suffering, a suffering perpetuated and in some cases encouraged by the system that we are, all of us, complicit in.” It is from her speech that I have taken the title of this article. While her words were focused on her drive to reform the future into something better and brighter, I find myself still returning to the past. I have been inextricably and personally present in the events that surrounded both Wizarding Wars, and as such, I believe that I possess some qualification to examine their cause and the nature of the conflagration. 
> 
> Do not expect this document to be a pardon or a friendly, safe version of the Wars. I am not here to offer condolences or speak kindly. I promise I am going to speak ill of the dead, living, and everyone in between. There will be precious few visions of light in this narrative, although, with the assistance of my ever-patient editors, I hope to elucidate--and perhaps illuminate--the fault lines that reach into the foundations of our society. 
> 
> In my time, I have often accused Miss Granger of being a know-it-all. I find that it is still an accurate descriptor, and now, I hope it is more of a title and less of a derisive epithet. Time and again, she has been proven correct, and I will now seek to confirm and substantiate her assertion that we are, all of us, complicit. 

Hermione’s jaw dropped as she paged through the newspaper. It was pages and pages of writing, all Severus excruciatingly calling out the Wizarding World on their shit. She didn’t expect he was pulling punches, and she picked out a few lines of text as she scanned. _“Ministry nepotism allowed the escape of a fanatical Death Eater, re-endangering Potter.” “On good days, I stood by while life-endangering bullying was perpetrated under my authority; on bad days I was the sole executor and took pleasure in it.” “The stigma against lycanthropy is so forceful that a man must be locked up alone in an enchanted hovel, with absolutely no support network, to claw himself ragged--and that was considered a very decent set-up.”_ He wasn’t holding anything back. It was a downright indictment of not just dozens of individuals, but also the very systems of the wizarding world.

“Holy shit,” she breathed. “He could send people to Azkaban with this.” 

“Yeah, Luna mentioned he acknowledges it, but I couldn’t find it before I knew I had to give it to you.” 

“Think we can take breakfast in our rooms today? I want to read the rest of this.” 

“I’ll go ask Minerva. You keep reading, fill me in when I get back.” 

She did. When Harry came back, he had two trays of breakfast, and let her know that apparently Minerva had been in on it. For the next hour, Hermione and Harry traded reading aloud and eating. 

“So he basically only lauds Minerva and Filius, and half-pardons some of the rest of the staff,” Harry said when Hermione had finally finished reading it. “And some of the kids, like us, Weasley actions during the war but not after, and some of Draco’s stuff. And apparently he talked about it to Draco beforehand?” 

“Yeah.” Hermione munched on a spoonful of berries. “I mean, he tears into Dumbledore pretty badly--_‘raising a starry-eyed, trusting young boy like cattle for the slaughter, saving his life to let him die at the correct time’_\--and mentions that some of the Hogwarts staff were complicit by either turning a blind eye to the bullying, or not providing the proper support network when people came to them.” She paused, swallowing and turning to a different page to double-check her references. There it was. “Although he does mention that the administration’s failure to establish a proper remedial setup for bullying, as well as the lack of a higher-up condemnation of the bullying, greatly hampered staff efforts to provide support to the students, and excuses some of the teachers on the premise of that alone.” 

“Holy shit,” Harry said. “He’s not gonna be popular.” 

“I mean, I’m not sure he was already. I think Minerva probably will help with the staff, since a lot of them… harbor guilt over the war still. But yeah, I think a lot of people are going to take offence to this. He mentions in particular the rotation of DADA teachers as providing an unstable foundation for such an essential core subject in a time of war, and mentions that there were very few functional DADA teachers.” Hermione paused, realizing she was basically just quoting verbatim from the article at this point. “And he doesn’t include himself in the ‘functional’ ones. Asshole, he doesn’t get to make that decision.” 

Harry snorted. “I think he was the harshest on himself.”

“That’s not surprising.” She turned to the end of the pages. “So it says there’s going to be a few more articles, one on a list of factors that influenced Tom’s rise--particularly blood purism--and also that he’s in communication with a few students that were victims of particularly bad bullying, especially at his hands--Neville’s one, I bet--to see if there’s a way he can remedy things. And that remedy may include further articles.” 

“Damn. That’s a lot of self-flagellation. He might need a massage, Hermione.” Harry winked. 

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Look, if you think this isn’t the hottest thing someone could ever do for me, I don’t know what to tell you.” She folded the newspaper, using it to gesture to emphasize her points. She pointed to his author’s photo, larger than most author’s photos, but certainly a side piece to the giant, bold title of ‘COMPLICIT.’ “He just wrote ten fucking newspaper pages on how I’m right. And promised more. I would have this man’s _babies_ right now, Harry. Babies, _plural._ Look at him. He knows it, too, the little shit.”

“Hermione, he certainly does not look like he knows it. I think he looks kind of like he’s about to go to the noose, actually.” 

“Yeah, the noose is having kids with Hermione Granger.” 

“He hit on you like six times, in _print!” _

“I know!” She paused, biting her lip. “I might go try and make out with him.”

“Go get ‘em, tiger.” 

Yeah, she was. Hermione chased Harry out of her room, then quickly changed into black panties, tight shorts and a white blouse that hid absolutely nothing, especially not the black lacy bra she put on. She brushed her teeth thoroughly as all good dentists’ daughters should, grabbed the newspaper, and went to seduce her ex-teacher/current mentor. 

At the door to their shared sitting room, Hermione paused. Should she tell Minerva? And then, the slow realization worked its way through her. Minerva already knew. 

The Headmistress’ unstated but tacit approval secured, Hermione yanked open the door. 

Severus wasn’t in the sitting room. She sniffed, smelled coffee and moved to check the lab. 

He’d relaxed after winter break, and over the weekends had taken to wearing sweaters instead of his typical robes. Right now, he was in a forest green sweater over one of his stiffly starched white button-ups that hid the scars from Nagini, and black pants. Hermione determined that none of them were allowed to stay on. In one hand he had a paper--not the Quibbler, Hermione noticed (of course not, he’d written the bloody thing)--and in the other a mug of coffee. His expression was one of absentminded calm. 

Until she marched over and took his coffee mug from him, putting it on the side table. He gave a soft noise of protest, which was repeated when she snatched away the paper and tossed it over her shoulder. Instead, she shoved the Quibbler in his face. 

“Severus Snape, what is this?”

“Ah,” he said. “Yes. That.” He scratched behind one ear, his other hand’s fingers twittering like he was playing a piano in the air, sideways. Hermione hadn’t been intending to drag this on, but his nervousness was adorable. _Who’s in control now, asshole? That’s right. Both of us actually, because I want this relationship to be consensual._ “That’s, uh. A newspaper?” 

Merlin, he was so cute when he didn’t know what to do. 

Hermione tossed the Quibbler to the side, and his eyes flew open as he realized he was treated to a front row seat to the goods, shown amply by her hanging shirt. “No. That’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever fucking seen.” 

He managed to get out something that sounded like a vowel before she was on him, her lips on his as she climbed to sit on his lap, pushing him against the couch with her hands. He went easily, his mouth opening to accept hers as she settled into her new seat and buried her hands in his hair. That earned a soft groan as he deepened their kiss, his tongue meeting hers. She could feel his hands, one on her lower back and one between her shoulders, pulling her closer. 

After a moment, she pulled back for air, and to check how he was doing. His eyes were wide and she swore she could see how blown his pupils were. 

“You need to let me know if you want me to stop right now,” she blurted, “Because then I need to go chuck myself in the Black Lake. I think that’s the only way I can calm down at this point.” 

He blinked, and his eyelashes reminded her of a black butterfly. Stupid man, why did he get such nice eyelashes? “Oh,” he said, then nodded. “No, no, this is great, let’s continue.” 

“Good,” Hermione muttered before retaking him again, tugging at his lower lip with her teeth and then kissing up his jawline. 

He laughed breathlessly, which was broken by another gasp as she tugged at his earlobe. “Fuck. I wasn’t planning on this until after the full series.” 

“Yes, well.” Hermione licked the curve of his ear, and he hummed deep, the sound radiating from his chest through her very hot core. He kissed at her neck, then down, biting the skin of her collarbone and sucking. “Some of us--fuck, that’s good--are bossy little chits.” She grabbed his sweater with one hand, concentrated for a moment, and vanished it to a few feet away. 

“Impatient,” he murmured against her skin, his lips tickling her skin as they moved and his breath ghosted over the spot he’d just bitten. The word came with a rolling chuckle, which vibrated through her thighs and up into her clit. 

“Very.” Hermione brought one hand up and snagged one of his, pulling it up to the buttons of her shirt. She did the first one for him, and then he seemed to catch on. She murmured another charm, and her bra unlatched itself. 

He seemed surprised for a moment, then just bemused. He leaned in, nibbling at her pulse point. The hand that had completed unbuttoning her blouse slid up under the limply hanging shell of her bra to palm a breast before playing with and tweaking the nipple. 

That was good. Hermione let out a long breath that ruffled his hair, rolling her hips in to grind against him as she began to unbutton his shirt. When it was open, she leaned in and kissed down the other side of his neck, this time all the way to Nagini’s scar. She could feel him tense as she reached it. 

Careful not to hurt him, she kissed it, open-mouthed, to caress the scar with her tongue. He let out an exhale, one hand tracing delicately up her spine. He was breathing heavily, she noticed, and she reached to undo his shirt more. 

His hand came up to stop her. “Hermione,” he whispered, clutching at her delicate wrist. “There are--it’s not pretty.” 

“Sev.” She pulled back to look at him. “We’re not going any further than either of us is comfortable with. But your scars aren’t going to scare me away.”

“It’s--” he sighed, his eyes flickering shut and his forehead resting against hers.

“Do my scars scare you?” she asked, and it was an honest question. 

“Merlin, no,” he whispered. “Though they hurt me to look at. I can’t imagine what you went through. But they’re… they’re marks of your survival. They’re beautiful, in a dark way.” 

“Then you know exactly how I feel about yours. I know you went through hell, even if I don’t know the details. Those scars make you who you are, and that’s why I like them. They’re beautiful because they’re part of you.” 

He sighed, opening his eyes again. Black pools, searching her with such love and trust, but such fear too. “Hermione, you’re… you’d be beautiful no matter what. I do not have such redeeming qualities, and I fear what little looks I had were lost a long time ago.” 

“Shut up,” she insisted, leaning in to kiss him on his nose. “Your eyes are stupidly dark and handsome and I am eternally jealous of your eyelashes. Your voice is gorgeous, and I would’ve beat the shit out of that snake if she took it from us. Your nose, even if you hate it, I like it--it’s striking, it’s unique, it’s you. I don’t give a shit if you’re not conventionally attractive. Have you ever seen yourself in a fight?” She could feel herself smiling now. “Circe. All dark and graceful and effortlessly powerful.” She paused thoughtfully, and then added, “It’s like watching a storm, except if you really wanted to shag a storm.” 

He huffed a laugh, and when she met his eyes again they were still scared, but much warmer. “Are you certain we don’t need to make an appointment at the Janus Thickey ward?”

“You would like me kept in a little cell for your convenience?” she asked with a grin. 

“As appealing as that sounds, no, I quite like you free.” He leaned in, and kissed her, this time permitting her to undress him and let her hands roam his chest. 

There were scars, as he’d said. But Hermione didn’t mind. She began to work her way down, starting with a little more attention to Nagini’s, then tracing her lips and tongue down the Lichtenberg figures of the cruciatus curse. He drew in a sharp breath when she reached the little line of ebony hair along his stomach, and pulled away. 

She realized why a moment later. He was definitely hard again.

“Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to be… well. Crass.”

“Why?” She sat up and rocked her hips in, earning a gasp as he clutched her tightly suddenly. “It means I’m doing my job right.” 

He groaned as she rocked her hips again, but she couldn’t tell if it was pleasure or exasperation. “You sound so bloody pleased.” He waved a hand, and a stasis spell was put on the cauldron. “I’m not getting any work done this morning, am I?”

Hermione laughed and buried her fingers in his thick, silky hair. It really wasn’t greasy at all. All the sheen was potions vapors, and any dunderhead could see that. “Sev, you’re going to be lucky if you get work done at all today.” 

***

Severus had not gotten any work done that day. 

He did, however, get other things done, namely himself and Hermione. They’d started on the couch, migrated to a wall of books in his quarters, and then finally into his bed, for a final shag and nap before dinner. 

She was absolutely stark naked, curled up against his chest, asleep. Merlin help him. Her legs were tangled in his and a hand was on his chest, and her fountain of curls was mostly constrained to one side of his face. Her form was so golden and pure next to his pasty, pale body, all jagged and scarred. He still couldn’t see it--whatever ‘it’ was that Hermione saw in him. He wasn’t sure he ever could. 

Good man as he was trying to be, there was still a large selfish streak in him, and that was more than enough to convince him to claim her for his own. 

He summoned the blankets and tucked them in, then decided to take a nap too. If she was still there when he woke up--and not horrified by what they had done (repeatedly) today--then he could… go from there. Probably get dinner in the quarters. Yes, that’d be reasonable, he decided, as he drifted off to sleep. 

Severus awoke an indeterminate amount of time later to the feeling of someone watching him and something similar to a hand on his cock. Cracking open an eye, he determined that it was, indeed, Hermione. She hadn’t left. Startling, truly.

“Good morning,” she mumbled, and he pulled her in for a kiss, slipping the hand that wasn’t pinned beneath her down to reciprocate. 

After that was completed, he readjusted himself to spoon her. “Want dinner?” he asked. 

“Yes. And no, I’m not getting out of bed.” 

“Me neither. I’m too old for this.” 

Hermione snorted. “You certainly didn’t seem too tired.” 

He huffed out a laugh. “You abuse me, witch. Your--what did Draco call me?”

“Potions boytoy.” 

That earned another, louder laugh. “Yes. Your potions boytoy is tired. Someone woke him up from his nap.” 

“You could nap again,” she offered. “See how you you might be woken up after that.” 

He hummed thoughtfully, and she shivered a little at the noise. He smiled into her hair. He liked that his voice could do that to her. “Maybe after dinner?” 

“Sounds good.” She paused for a moment. “Can I stay the night?”

“Yes, although I may actually have to sleep at some point. Minerva will be highly displeased if there’s no one to wrangle the students tomorrow morning.”

“Fine. I suppose a whole night of cuddling is sufficient.” 

He laughed, and sat up to ask the house elves to bring them dinner.


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! Trying to get back in the swing of posting. 
> 
> I would like to thank Nyx_DeLaLuna, indigoace, FrancineHibiscus, Carols_Sister, and ToniOcean for their continued and wonderful support of this fic. 💚 I would also like to thank ToniOcean and TattooedWriter for the betaing! 💚💚💚💚 You guys are amazing! All of you! It's so wonderful to have such a lovely audience, both returning and new!

Severus was in a panic. 

He had never anticipated having a significant other, even if they hadn’t actually discussed what they were calling each other, but either way he’d never considered how exactly to show someone he liked them. It had led to him practically kicking down Minerva’s door late one Thursday night. 

“I mean, how do I even go about it?” he spluttered, with a glass of Firewhiskey in one hand and the other hand in his pocket. 

Minerva was sitting in her pajamas looking quite nonplussed. “Go about what?” she asked, her tone one of exasperation. 

“Oh, bloody fuck,” Severus muttered, which was the only thing he could force out of his mouth. The words ‘show someone I care about them’ seemed impossible to form. It was as if his entire being rebelled against the concept, and absolutely refused to comprehend the very nature of the desire. Was he insane? Was he a sociopath, like Tom, incapable of caring for someone else?

“Severus, I’m going to teach you a little thing called ‘love languages,’” Minerva said with a sigh, apparently guessing the issue that was inspiring his nervous, semi-violent reflections. “There are a few major ones, namely: words of praise, gifts, quality time, physical affection, and acts of assistance. Everybody shows their love in different ways, and everybody understands love best through different ways. You just need to figure out which ways you show love, and which ways she likes to receive love.” 

Severus wanted to protest the use of the word ‘love,’ but it felt very futile and also rather irrelevant, since this seemed to be a more universal concept. “She… words of praise, definitely,” he decided. “And, and… quality time, I think.” 

“Well, alright then,” Minerva said, with a wave of her hand toward him, as if she were ordering him to perform on cue. “Get on with it.” 

***

Hermione was in the middle of taking notes on a few of her more recent test brews when Severus came in and quietly began to arrange ingredients. That wasn’t unusual in and of itself, but she noticed that he kept sliding glances her way when he thought she wasn’t looking. In her experience, that meant he was nervous. Nervous and probably a little shy. And that meant he was likely about to do something adorably sweet. 

It was a few minutes until he coughed quietly, and cleared his throat. There was another beat of silence after that until he spoke. 

“Arthur Nix will be in Hogsmeade for a book signing this weekend.”

“Really?” Hermione looked up from her work, not having to fake her excitement at the prospect in the slightest. Nix was one of her favorites, and she’d been surprised to learn that Severus also read his stuff, since it was fiction, but it was damn good fiction. 

“I was. Wondering.” He swallowed, and carefully slid a jar of dried mint onto the shelf with meticulous focus. As he pushed it into place, Hermione noticed his fingers were either shaking or twitching, just a little. “If you would be interested in going?”

“Yes, I’d love to,” Hermione said, trying her best to keep effusive joy out of her voice until she was certain it wouldn’t spook him. He was so precious when he was like this. 

A short, sharp nod, and he didn’t take his eyes from the ingredients as he drew in a deep breath. “Wwww… ith me.”

“That’d be even better.” Okay, now she was allowed to be joyous, if only because she could barely keep it in anymore. Standing up, she bounced over to him and wrapped her arms around his waist, hugging him from behind. “It sounds like a lot of fun, and I’d love to go with you. Thank you for thinking of me.”

He was still tense, but he nodded. “Yes.” That was all he said. 

Hermione grinned, reaching up and running a hand through his hair. He froze with a bottle of newt brains halfway into their slot. She continued to work her hands through his hair, until his eyes flickered closed for the tiniest fragment of a second, and then his body relaxed in her embrace. 

“When were you thinking of going?” Hermione asked, continuing to massage his scalp. 

“Saturday afternoon,” he murmured. “That night, Minerva has me on blasted quidditch refereeing duty, but that’s not until afterwards and I’d like something decent during the day.” 

Giggling softly, Hermione pressed a kiss into his neck, just above where his high collar ended. “It’s a wonder she even keeps you on that anymore.”

“Yes, you’d think that after I got lit on fire by some asshole that I would be excused,” Severus muttered, and Hermione looked away, pointedly aware that he definitely didn’t realize that was her fault. She was about to fess up when he continued, distracting her. “We could grab lunch beforehand.”

“Perfect!” Hermione squeezed him tight for a moment. “It’s a date, then!” 

She could see his tiny smile in his reflection on the bottle of newt brains. “Yes,” he murmured. “It is.”

***

Lunch and the signing were absolutely perfect. Severus did his best to tone down the glower so that poor Arthur Nix didn’t shit himself while reading from the novel. Hermione helped by distracting him with little shows of fondness, knowing that when he melted around her, he was significantly less scary. At one point, the bookstore’s owner came over and cooed over Severus--apparently an old friend--like a mother hen, with such a grandmotherly fondness that Hermione thought he was about to snap. Instead, he bore it with resignation, and Hermione nearly cried laughing at Nix’s sheer terror upon viewing the exchange. Nix overcame his fear in time to sign copies for the two of them, thankfully. 

Then Severus had to head back for his referee gig. 

Honestly, Hermione was the most nervous about having Sev return to Hogwarts alone. He was definitely unpopular since his articles started coming out in the Quibbler, and they’d been heckled before when they went with the kids to Hogsmeade. It wasn’t that Sev couldn’t defend himself. In fact, the problem was that he could defend himself, and he was really fucking good at it, and Hermione couldn’t even think about the possibility of him going back to Azkaban. 

She watched him disappear down the street out the window of the bookshop, chewing on her lip. A hand on her shoulder startled her. Hermione turned to find the bookstore owner. 

“He’ll be careful,” the elderly lady murmured. “He’s got something to live for, now. Haven’t seen him like this in decades.” 

Hermione turned to thank her, but she was already off behind the counter, helping another customer. Still, Hermione caught her eye and mouthed a ‘thank you’ before she turned to chat with Nix, helping him pack up his stuff and getting a couple other signed works for herself and Severus. 

After that, she returned to Hogwarts herself, noting from the raucous cheering that the quidditch match wasn’t over yet. So she returned to their--well. Technically their quarters were not shared, but Hermione already acted like they were, so… she returned to their not-shared-but-shared quarters. 

She was pretty sure Severus had put the entire day together specifically because he wanted to show her he cared, which was the cutest shit Hermione had ever seen, because Severus was not very good at the warm fuzzy feelings. She wanted to show her appreciation, without making him feel like she was one-upping him, because he was terribly insecure about that sort of thing. 

It took a little bit of brainstorming, but eventually Hermione Granger had a plan. First, she pillaged the bathroom. Soaps, shampoo, conditioner, oils… okay, so Sev had like two of those, namely soap and shampoo. That was a good start. She checked his shampoo. Decent, but she could do better. She grabbed hers, along with her conditioner, and a few bath oils. 

Severus was not big on flowery scents, she knew that, but there were a few that Hermione was pretty certain he wouldn’t mind. Lavender, for antianxiety, and then sandalwood and eucalyptus, which she knew he was fine with. 

She drew the bath, keeping only a hint of lavender and hiding it beneath the other scents, and using a heating charm to keep the entire tub warm while she made tea. She already knew his favorite tea, mostly because it was supposed to be hers--until she noticed that her stock was vanishing before her eyes. He looked like a guilty puppy whenever she picked up the bag, so she just started surreptitiously refilling it enough that both of them could drink it without him feeling so bad. 

Charming a tray to float, she brought it over to the bath with the pot, a cup and saucer, and the little jar of sugar cubes. Then she waterproofed his copy of the book they’d just gotten signed, and set it on the tray. 

While she waited for him to come back, she decided to change into a lacy green bra and panties, because why not. Of course, it was chilly in the dungeons, so over that she just tossed on one of his robes. 

Then she picked up the most recent Potions Monthly, sat down on the couch, and began to read. 

It was another half an hour or so before the door practically exploded open. Hermione, having become accustomed to Severus being frustrated after quidditch, took a moment to mark her place in the article she was reading before she closed the magazine and turned to him. 

“I am never doing another blood quidditch match again,” he was saying, tossing his robes to the side in frustration. “I fucking cannot stand those--”

Hermione stood up, and he seemed to notice her attire for the first time. His eyes widened, and his mouth opened and closed a few times without any noise coming out of it. 

Smiling at him, Hermione sauntered over, enjoying the way that the robe was much too large for her and dropped to expose her shoulders. Reaching up, she gently undid Sev’s cravat, while he continued to stare. 

“I’m sorry it was frustrating,” she said, sweetly, as if she wasn’t wearing absolutely nothing. “I drew you a bath, if that helps?”

Severus was silent for another moment, and then managed, “Is that… my robe?”

She nodded. “It gets cold down here, you know.” Oh, she’d have to do this more often. Maybe it was wrong of her, but Hermione greatly enjoyed breaking Severus Snape. 

“Oh,” he said. “Wait. What were you saying?”

Hermione had a decent number of his buttons undone at this point. Sure, she could’ve used a charm on them, but it was a lot more fun seeing how many she could get undone before he noticed. “I drew you a bath,” she repeated. “I figured you’d need it after the match. There’s tea, too.” 

“Bath,” he said, his eyes still trailing up and down her body, his voice absent. 

She tugged off his frock coat, and he just went with it automatically, watching her as she moved. It wasn’t until she was undoing his belt that he seemed to come back to earth. 

“A bath!” he said, for the second time, blinking his eyes urgently as she pulled the belt off and tossed it to the floor. “R-Right, uh, bath. And… tea?” He blinked again, hard, and frowned at her. “Hermione, you didn’t have to.” 

Raising up on her tiptoes, Hermione wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed his lips. She enjoyed the feeling of languidly stretching her body out against him, the thin shirt the only thing separating him from her bare skin, the hardness in his pants. “I wanted to,” she replied, resting her forehead against his and smiling.

“This day is about you,” he murmured, wrapping his arms around her outside his robe. 

She paused, turning and using one arm to lift his hand and re-insert it beneath the robe, so it rested against her scantily clad ass. She did the same with the other. “It’s about us, Sev. And besides, I have plans.” 

He arched a brow, and she arched closer to him in response. His hands trailed downwards, until each cupped a cheek, and he squeezed experimentally. It was a new and welcome feeling, how warm they felt around her ass, and for the first time in her life Hermione felt like she enjoyed someone squeezing her bum. This was good new. 

“Plans?” he asked. 

“Yes.” She smiled. “You’re going to take a bath. And drink your tea. And you’re going to read to me, and I’m going to massage you.” 

He hummed, and Hermione felt her eyes half-lid at the sensation of the sound through his body. “Seems rather me-centric.” 

Hermione pouted. “A compromise then. I massage you this time, and then next time you massage me. And I get to choose the body part that you massage with.” 

He opened his mouth again, and then closed it and frowned. “H--How would that even work?” He grinned and laughed, even as he said, “Serious question, I’m legitimately concerned.” 

She laughed with him. “No idea. You’re smart, you’ll figure it out.” Dropping down from her tiptoes, Hermione pulled towards the bathroom. “Come on. I’ve been dying, not able to start the book until you got home.”

That made his laugh grow, and she pulled him with one hand towards the bathroom, dropping the robe as she went. In the bathroom, she spun around and began to unbutton his shirt, when he froze again. 

“A bath,” he whispered. 

The third repetition gave her pause. Frowning, Hermione looked up at him, brushing hair out of his face with her hand. “Are you okay, Sev?”

He was staring at the bath still, gaze distant and thoughtful, and then his eyes slid over to her. For a moment, Hermione felt like she was reading his mind, with how laid bare his feelings were in front of her. 

Then, just as suddenly, he pulled her into one of the tightest hugs of her life. She made a squeak, but quickly hugged him back. 

“I’m sorry if I did something,” she murmured. 

“No, no,” he replied. “It’s not you. I’m just remembering the last time I took a bath.” He buried his face in her hair, and she squeezed tighter. “I… I was not in a good place. Your cat stopped me.” 

“Oh, Sev.” With that whisper she pulled away slightly to kiss him on the lips. “I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay. I’m… a lot better now.” He kissed her, again, and then smiled. “I would like to make new bath memories, if that’s okay.”

She grinned, squeezing him tight one more time before she went to finish undressing him.


	34. Chapter 34

Hermione had half moved in to Sev’s quarters by February. Their rooms were connected, and her bedroom had become more of a library, since they always needed more space to store books. Sure, the bed was still there, but it was a formality. He’d made several attempts to chase her back into it, insisting he was too old and ugly and awful and whatever, but she held firm and eventually he gave up on it. 

It was Valentine’s Day, and she and Sev had a special dinner planned for the night at one of his favorite Muggle restaurants. Then they’d head back home for reading and a night in. 

The day before, they’d had a double date with the recently-minted couple of Harry and Draco, with Ginny and Luna tagging along as additional wheels. Hermione had pulled Ginny away to talk to her about how things were with Harry. She wanted to make sure there were no hard feelings. Ginny had laughed and replied, “You know what the first thing Harry said to me when I came out was? He was like, ‘Oh Merlin, so I was your beard? That’s such an honor!!’ I love Harry, and I’m so glad that he’s happy. Hell, I even like Draco nowadays. We’re best shopping buds. I can’t wait to spoil their kids. I’m gonna be the lesbian aunt, Hermione!”

Preemptive as those thoughts might be, Hermione was relieved. Everything was good in the world. 

She’d stayed home while Severus ran to grab some more reagents from Hogsmeade, and was just reading in the lab as she cooked up a few things for the infirmary when a sudden flare of green in the fireplace startled her. Severus stuck his face through. 

“Granger! Wiggenweld, healing poultice, blood replenisher--primed but unfinished--stat!”

“Fuck,” she mumbled, and dashed away, not bothering to bookmark her spot. 

She ran into their shared kitchen, arms overflowing with healing potions. Her jaw nearly dropped when she saw what he’d brought. 

“Severus Snape, that is a _tiger.”_

“Is it?” he asked, looking a little confused. “I thought it was just a large kneazle.”

“No, _that’s a fucking tiger.”_

“Okay, fine, tiger, but it’s hurt badly and you’re the local cat rescue expert! Do--Do your thing!” He waved his hand toward the tiger on their dining room table. He looked quite panicky. 

Hermione nodded, potions clattering as she dropped them to the table and tossed away the bathrobe she was wearing. As she looked closer, running diagnostic charms, she realized they were both right. Some bastard had bred a kneazle with a tiger. 

She started with the wiggenweld, emptying it into the cat’s mouth and closing it, rubbing her fingers along the neck to stimulate swallowing. No, she was thinking like a Muggle still. She needed to think like a witch. 

Grabbing the next three vials, she vanished their contents directly into the cat’s stomach. “Get me warm water, bandages, and more replenisher,” she said, so quick and clipped it might’ve been a snap if she was angry. Severus nodded, looking a little bewildered as he rushed from the room. 

Then she started with the blood replenisher. The potion was in stasis, primed for the final ingredient: the target’s blood. Scooping up a small and clean quantity from the tiger-kneazle’s open wound, she shook the potion to finish it, then vanished it into the cat’s stomach. 

Broken ribs. Those were the first thing that she wanted to handle. She took the potions from Severus as he ran back into the room. “Calming draught, anesthetic,” she said. “And Pomfrey!”

He started with the last one first. Whirling his wand in a wide sweep, he called out, “Expecto Patronum!” and a shimmering otter burst into being. He stared at it for a moment, as did she, before he just shrugged and seemed to accept it in stride. “Get Pomfrey. Tell her we have a cat in need of healing. Literal cat.” The otter left. 

Hermione decided to put that particular realization on hold for a minute. Instead, she conjured a needle and injected the anesthetic potion into the spots around the shattered ribs. “Where the hell did you find a tiger-kneazle?”

“Forest,” he said. Then, a moment later. “Oh, fuck. There was a circus coming to Hogsmeade. A train cart wasn’t working properly. Animals were thrown out of the cart, they thought.” 

_“Our cat now,”_ Hermione said as the fireplace flared and Pomfrey arrived. 

Pomfrey arched a brow. "That is... a tiger."

"That's what I said," Hermione hissed.

She and the nurse worked side by side to fix the tiger, and after an hour of repositioning bones, the patient was dosed on calming draught and the wounds were shallow enough that Hermione was confident enough she could handle it on her own. Poppy left to return to the injured humans, with a smile for each of them. 

Hermione got into the rhythm of cleaning wounds and applying healing poultice. She was so focused she didn’t even realize she was singing until Severus spoke up. 

“What’s that song?”

His voice was filled with unusual intensity.

“What?” she asked. 

“The song. What is it?”

“Oh. I didn’t even realize I was singing, sorry.” She paused, trying to recall what she’d just been doing. “Oh! _Oranges and lemons, say the bells of St. Clement’s,”_ she sang the first line.

“Yes! That one!” Severus blurted. “Where is it from?!”

“It’s just a nursery rhyme, Sev, we used to sing it all the time.” She bandaged another cut and continued to sing the song in full:   
_“You owe me five farthings,   
Say the bells of St. Martin’s.   
When will you pay me?   
Say the bells at Old Bailey.   
When I grow rich,  
Say the bells at Shoreditch.  
When will that be?  
Say the bells of Stepney.  
I do not know,  
Says the great bell at Bow.  
Here comes a candle to light you to bed,  
And here comes a chopper to chop off your head!  
Chip chop chip chop the last man is dead.” _

Severus was silent for a long moment. 

“Like most nursery rhymes, it ends in death.” She smiled as she finished bandaging up the cat, Scourgifying her hands. “You know. As all good things for children do.” 

She expected him to laugh, but he was just staring at her with his mouth open. 

“Sev?” she asked, getting concerned now. She approached, sitting down next to him at the table. “What’s wrong?”

“I knew I wasn’t dreaming,” he said. “It was real. It was you.” He said each word like an individual hammer blow. 

Hermione frowned. “What?”

“You were there,” he insisted. “I remember now.” His voice was growing stronger, his tone more convinced. “You sang to me.” He laughed, and it was a strange, airy thing that she’d never heard out of him before. 

It clicked then. 

“Oh,” she breathed in realization as her gut and the world fell out from beneath her. “Oh fuck.”

“It was you!” he burst out, grinning widely. “Minnie insisted that it was all just a vision, a dream, but I couldn’t shake it. You sat with me and you sang as I died. I thought you were an angel.” He reached out a hand and Hermione, paralyzed, waited for it to strike her. Instead, he touched her face lightly, feeling the contours and scrutinizing her so closely it was like he’d never see her again--or maybe that he was seeing her for the first time. “You sat with me and you sang as I died,” he repeated, quieter. “You looked like an angel. Maybe an angel in service of death, truthfully.” He touched at her cheeks. “You were so thin. Skeletal. I think that was part of it. I just saw you and I thought, _‘Death’s angel has come to sing me on my way. I don’t deserve this.’_ Merlin, Hermione, what did you eat in that forest? Did you eat anything at all?”

She swallowed, wanting desperately to break his gaze but finding herself frozen by the gentle touch of his fingertips on her jawline. “Mostly mushrooms,” she whispered. “The Forbidden Forest isn’t… well, there’s a reason it’s not zoned for agriculture.” 

“I’m so sorry,” he murmured. He leaned in, both hands cradling her face, elbows on his knees. 

“I…” Hermione managed to shut her eyes. For one blissful moment, the fear of reprisal in that obsidian gaze dissipated from her stomach. “I’m not sorry, for the record,” she said as she opened her eyes again to his scrutiny. “That I brought you to St. Mungo’s. I’m sorry things were awful afterwards, but I don’t regret helping you.” 

He smiled. “I’m glad.” Leaning in, he pressed one gentle, loving kiss on her lips. “Thank you. You saved me, several times.” 

She managed a weak smile. “Give yourself more credit. I was just there with the carrot.”

“You were the carrot, sometimes.” He paused, letting his hands fall from her face to take her hands. Then his gaze dropped, and he colored, becoming once again the nervous Severus rather than the bewildered shock that he’d just shown. “The otter… was a little less tactful than I’d hoped to be, but I… happy Valentine’s Day, I guess?” He offered her a blush and chagrined smile. 

Hermione launched herself at him, wrapping both arms around him as she kissed him hard. Grabbing her wand, she twirled it, and a silvery raven perched on her shoulder. He flushed bright pink. “Happy Valentine’s Day, love.” She pulled away, and glanced at the sleeping tiger on the table. “Thanks for the… cat?” She froze. “Fuck, we completely missed the dinner reservation.” 

“Shit, you’re right.” He paused, then shrugged. “Oh well. I’ll go get some Chinese takeout, and we can brainstorm names for the, uh, tiger-kneazle? Tiger? It really looks like a crossbreed.”

Hermione laughed. “I can’t believe you got me a tiger-kneazle for Valentine’s Day.” 

***

Severus awoke after three hours of sleep to the sound of grumbling moans. He reached for Hermione. Not there. Falling out of bed, and noting the golden light from beneath the door to the bedroom, he stumbled over blearily. 

The scene in front of him was an interesting mix of domesticity and absurdity. Hermione was on the sofa, cradling a still-bandaged tiger-kneazle, which was making those growling noises when she took too long to load up another spoon of… Severus sniffed. Was that tuna and milk, mixed together?

Hermione looked over at him. “Hey,” she said, ignoring the complaining tiger-kneazle. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Severus just grumbled his own complaint and made his way over to the armchair, flopping into it. “It wasn’t you, it was that bastard there.” He pointed at the tiger-kneazle. Staring at the creature, which was definitely the size of a full-grown tiger, flopped on its back in her lap, Severus became suddenly aware of how spoiled this beast was already. “Why do I feel like we’ve just adopted a baby?”

She laughed, giving the cat another spoonful of food that it licked up eagerly. “Didn’t anyone tell you, Sev? Cats don’t have owners. They have staff.” 

The cat, as if to emphasize her point, looked at him quite expectantly. 

Sighing, Severus slouched and pinched the bridge of his nose. “This is why I never enjoyed familiars beyond the occasional owl.” 

“Aww, don’t be so mean to Ozymewndias,” Hermione giggled, giving him and then the tiger a fond smile. The name was literary and punny enough that they’d both settled on it. “He’s just sick. He had a very stressful day, getting tossed from train cars and all that.” 

“I still have no bloody idea how that happened,” Severus muttered. “It seems so… contrived.” 

Hermione’s expression became distant and peaceful. “I know,” she said. Her voice was so quiet it was barely a whisper. “But I think he’s a gift.”

“A gift?”

She smiled. “I know someone who met me through an orange tabby half-kneazle, that’s all. An old friend.” 

Severus looked at her, scrutinizing her, and something settled deep within his being. He knew exactly who she meant. “They’re not keen on staying indebted to people,” he said. “Even their friends.”

Hermione’s gaze focused on him sharply. Her smile froze, and then widened. “I suppose I can’t blame them. But I did insist I didn’t need anything.” 

Severus shrugged. “Then it is a gift from them, I suppose.” 

Ozymewndias chuffed and pressed one massive paw on Hermione’s face. She rolled her eyes, beckoning Severus over. She scooched forward, allowing him to slide in behind her with one leg squished between her and the back of the sofa, and the other dangling off. 

As he pulled her against him, he decided that no matter how many large felines he had to share the couch with, as long as she was present it was the most comfortable position he’d ever been in. 

Hermione leaned back and kissed his unshaven jaw. “Happy Valentine’s, Sev. Thank you for the tiger.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My name is Ozymewndias, King of Kings;  
Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair!


	35. Chapter 35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These chapters are going to be more spaced out (temporally in the storyline) as the story wraps up. I'm uncertain how I feel about that, because the first half of the fic was so quick-paced. I think I'll probably keep updating regularly, unless people would rather I take a break and wait an undefined amount of time until I'm certain I have enough scenes to give everyone all of the answers they'd like. (For example, there's no scenes of Oz menacing people as much as I'm certain you guys would like.)
> 
> I currently have about 10k more words for this fic, although that's going to increase as I round out the end--right now there's an end that works, but it's not as polished as I'd like, so I'll probably include some sort of epilogue to tie it all up.

It was the last week of classes when it happened. Severus was just meandering the nearly-empty halls, as most students were busy studying for finals, when he spotted Hermione. Perking up, he turned to head over and ask her about how her test brews of that morning were going when--

“Mione!”

Severus froze. That was Weasley’s voice. He hesitated in the hallway, instinctively looking for a hiding spot. There--a slight distortion in the wall’s mortar told him that an alcove was just behind it, covered by the school’s illusions. These specially hidden alcoves had been essential to him in the past, both for his espionage and hiding from the Marauders. He slipped into it, knowing the illusion of the wall would hide him from outside view.

“Ronald,” Hermione replied, her tone utterly emotionless. There wasn’t even the terrifying sweetness that came when she was about to verbally eviscerate someone. There was just coldness. “I’m busy, make it quick.” 

Weasley scoffed. “Don’t be silly. You’re graduated now! And soon I will be too. I’m off to play for the Cannons.” A quidditch team? Well, at least the collisions and resulting concussions wouldn’t have much brain matter to damage. “This is your last chance. Our last chance.” 

“Pass,” Hermione said, deadpan. 

She sounded certain but something in Severus squirmed. His heart, probably. He’d seen this go down before, and he knew that an old lecher was nothing next to a handsome young quidditch player. No matter what people said. 

“Don’t be like that, Mione,” Weasley was saying. “You’ve wanted this for years, don’t deny it. C’mere, let me-”

There was the squelching sound of kissing, and Severus decided he needed to head to his quarters, vomit, and then swiftly overdose on alcohol. He whirled to do so, and--

CRUNCH!

Severus flinched instinctively. With a nose as shitty as his, he knew exactly what that noise was. That was the sound of bone breaking, or cartilage detaching from bone. He looked up and over and found Ronald crumpled on the floor, bleeding profusely out of his nose. Hermione was standing over him, wiping off her mouth on the back of her sleeve. 

“You bitch!” Ronald yelled. “Fucking be that way, then! No one else will ever want you! Fucking swotty prick!”

Hermione spun and stormed off down the hallway, towards Severus. As she passed by, he reached out and yanked her in, covering the area in a muffliato. 

“Are you okay?!” he asked, looking her up and down with wide eyes, ignoring the wand at his throat. She could hex him to bits after he knew she was okay. 

Instead, she just dropped her hand and buried herself against him, sobbing openly into his chest. Severus froze, trying to compute how to react. He carefully wrapped his arms around her, pulling her to sit down on one of the stone benches in the alcove. “It’s okay,” he murmured. “I’ll murder him, don’t worry.” 

She sniffled. “He fucking--he kissed me, I hate him,” she said. “I never wanted to touch him again.” She hid her face against Severus’ chest, and he realized what was going on. 

Hermione Granger had just rejected someone--violently--for him. 

“We should… mention this to Minerva,” he said, quietly, as he pulled her closer and adjusted her so she could better curl up on his lap. She opened her mouth to protest, but he hushed her. “Don’t. You’re faculty, barely out of being a student, and that was sexual harassment. We’ve got your memories and some of mine to confirm. You were acting in self-defence.” 

Another sniffle. Severus pulled out a handkerchief for her. “If… if you’re sure,” she mumbled. 

“I am sure. Think about it, Hermione. If that sort of thing happened to Harry or Ginny, you’d want them to go to Minerva, right?”

She stared at him like he was daft. “Obviously!”

“Then you should go.” He wiped away tears from her cheek with one of his thumbs. “No double standards.” Also, there was still a week to revoke Ron’s grades--and then he wouldn’t technically graduate Hogwarts. Was that mean of Severus? Yes, but it was also justice. Severus considered himself a bit of an expert in asshole comeuppance. He stroked Hermione’s hair, kissing the top of her head. 

“Okay,” she mumbled at last. “But not… not yet. I need…” She burrowed her head against his neck. “I need this.” 

He hummed, and he could feel her smile against his neck. She liked his voice. He still didn’t understand why, but he’d use it to the best advantage he could. “I’m not protesting.” 

They sat in silence for a long time, Severus gently stroking her back as she calmed down. Then, she looked down and smiled. 

“You know, I never thought I’d see the day that someone pulled me into one of the infamous makeout alcoves,” she said. “Even if it wasn’t for some action.” 

Severus tilted his head to see her face better. “We can fix that.” 

***

“Hermione!” Ginny called as she burst into the potions classroom. “I just heard what my brother did--I’m so sorry, are you okay? I swear I’ll fucking skin him, I--” She hurried over and swept Hermione up in a hug.

Hermione managed a smile, dropping the quill she was using to mark student essays. “I’m alright, Ginny.” 

“Fuck,” Ginny said, letting go. “I should’ve asked to hug you. I know people can get understandably iffy about physical touch after sexual harassment.” 

What a fucking sweetheart. Hermione pulled Ginny back into a hug. “I appreciate the concern, but I’m always alright with your hugs.” 

Ginny laughed, but it sounded a bit like a controlled sob. “I’m going to murder him.” 

“Truly, I don’t think he’s worth going to Azkaban over,” Hermione murmured. 

“He’s not, but don’t worry, I just put him in the infirmary. No Azkaban yet.” Ginny looked a little guilty. “Neville had to pull me off of him.” 

Oh, Merlin. Hermione blinked at her. “...Ginny, what did you do? I don’t want you getting in trouble right before graduation for me.” 

“Oh, it’s fine.” Ginny waved a hand dismissively. “He came to scream about you to me, said you broke his nose when he kissed you, I realized he didn’t ask permission, and we were in the greenhouses, so I…. I threw a shovel at him.” She raised a hand up, tapped the palm against the side of her head. “The flat of the shovel hit right here. He went down like a rock.” 

That image… gave her a lot more joy than she expected. Hermione couldn’t help a little snicker. “You’re the best.”

With a roll of her eyes, Ginny leaned back to look at Hermione. Her eyes were wide, a little shimmery with tears, and overflowing with worry. “You’re so calm about this. Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Yes, I promise. I… how much did you hear?”

“McGonagall called me into her office after the, uh, shovel,” Ginny said. “She was talking about possible punishments, and didn’t want me to think that they reflected on my behavior at all. I think I heard most of it. She said they might expel him or whatever, not give him grades or let him graduate officially. I think that’d be great. He didn’t earn them anyway, he probably cheated off that bitch he’s with, just like he forced you into.”

“Yeah, that’s what Sev was pushing for, too.” Hermione took a deep breath. “Honestly, I just… I want him to learn that he can’t do this to other people. It wasn’t… It felt awful, Ginny, truthfully. I’m okay now but I don’t like the idea of other people having to go through that.” 

Ginny gave Hermione a look of absolute love. “You sweetheart,” she said. “Just got fucking groped by my brother and you’re worried about other people.” She hesitated. “This hasn’t caused problems with you and Sev, has it?”

“Oh, Merlin no,” Hermione said with a small laugh. “He happened to be just down the hallway when it happened, pulled me into an alcove to make sure I was okay.” She paused, and went bright red when she thought about what had happened afterwards. 

“...You got some action, didn’t you?” Ginny said, grinning. 

Hermione stared at the ground. “I mentioned nobody had ever pulled me into an alcove to make out,” she mumbled, then glanced up at Ginny. “You gotta promise not to tell anybody, Gin.” 

“Of course.” Ginny held up her hand, and pinky-promised. “Girl talk doesn’t leave the girls. You know that.” 

“Okay. I’m just--I’ve never had reason to talk about stuff like this before.” She bit her lip, knowing she was becoming tomato-red as they spoke. “He ate me out, okay? He--”

“WHAT?!”

“--yeah, he said I didn’t have to reciprocate because it had been a bad time and he wanted me to be able to say that I had action in the alcoves and--”

“Did you come?”

Hermione scratched at her neck, and bit her lip. “A few times,” she said, trying to keep it as nonchalant as possible as Ginny cackled like a madwoman and embraced her tightly. 

“Circe’s areolas!” Ginny giggled. “I’m so proud of you, Hermione.” 

“I didn’t do anything!”

“Yes you did! You found an amazing partner. Holy shit, I wish I could tell my brother, he’d be absolutely gobsmacked. I bet that would put a real tangle in his perception of his sexual prowess.” 

Hermione laughed. “I mean, as long as he either doesn’t know who did it or if it’s after my relationship with Sev is out in the open, I don’t know why you couldn’t. As long as I get a Pensieve copy.”

Ginny pulled back and cocked an eyebrow, her expression saying she was definitely planning how to pull this off. “Would Sev be embarrassed?”

Hermione paused to think about that. “No, I don’t think so,” she decided after a moment. “I think he’d be rather smug, actually.”


	36. Chapter 36

The potion was done by the end of summer break. As it turned out, the memory restorative potion was only one of Hermione’s many Mastery potions. Severus had let her count her healing tape as part of her mastery, as well as her improvements on a couple of known potions, and an anti-anxiety draught of her own creation, meant to be taken daily over years to reduce symptoms. 

So logistically, if the memory restorative potion didn’t work, they were in the clear. But that did nothing to dim Hermione’s nerves as she and Severus portkeyed to Australia for the second time. 

The potion was actually comprised of two draughts, essentially a potion and a booster or enhancer. The first was to return the memories themselves, and disrupt the charm. However, disrupted mind-altering charms often left the victim confused and hurt. The second draught was to mediate that, soothing the effects of the charm and fully unifying the person’s memories with their new situation. It wouldn’t be necessary in less severe situations, but this would be a jump for anyone--even a wizard accustomed to shrugging off memory charms. 

“How are we going to even do this?” Hermione babbled nervously as she hung on tightly to Severus’ arm. He was wearing a black leather jacket over a green button-up and black pants, and it was much more in-character than his attire the last time they were in Sydney. She just had on a maroon blouse and jeans, because she was too nervous to do anything fancy. “I could just vanish it into their stomachs, sure, but where are we going to find them? I mean, I know where they live we could just go there? But how are we going to get in? I don’t want to break into my parents’ house no matter what.” 

Severus drew a long breath. “Hermione, they own a dental practice,” he said. “You will be getting your teeth cleaned. I will deal with the vanishing. I have set up your appointment, as your--” he poked her in the ribs here “--husband.” 

Hermione laughed, and hugged his arm tightly to her. “Spy.” 

“Yes. It never leaves you. Whichever one shows up, I will… nudge the other to come in.” He turned down a road, guiding her toward what she realized was Wilkins Dentistry. Oh fuck. They were already here. “After they ingest the first potion, we will apparate to their home. That way we can act without fear of interruption.” 

She trusted him, but her stomach still plummeted at his words. “You don’t think…?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. There's a possibility they'll be catatonic for a short while, that happens with memory charms sometimes. At best, they will have questions for you. At worst, they will reject you. Muggles have a tendency to not believe magic is dangerous, no matter how much of it they see. They like to compartmentalize and minimize, especially because it is so foreign and so beyond their control, to think of it as ‘just something odd’ rather than something that could destroy them.” He slipped his hand into hers. “I have a plan if that occurs.” 

“Sev,” she whispered, and went up on her tip-toes to kiss him on the corner of his lips. “I trust you. Just… please try and not hurt them.” 

“Hermione, I would never.” 

“I know. I just know I want to smack them sometimes, so I can understand if you get frustrated.” She laughed, but it came out a little queasy. She took a deep breath and squared her jaw. “Alright. Let’s get this over with.” 

The receptionist gave the two of them a strange look when Hermione introduced them as a married couple, but thankfully she didn’t question it. A moment later, a hygienist called Hermione back. 

Severus sat in the chair while it all occurred. He looked so mundane there, with her jacket folded in his lap, and a black leather jacket. What a fucking dork. 

Hermione just bullshitted some symptoms that she knew would require dentist intervention, and after a moment, her mother entered. Mrs. Granger blinked and froze for a moment, but then brushed it off. “Hello there, Mrs…” she checked on her sheet. “Sullivan. I don’t believe we’ve met before.” 

“No, I’m here on vacation,” she explained, as the hygienist exited. That was unusual, and the way that Severus’ eyes followed the hygienist told her exactly what was going on. “Call me Hermione.” 

“Hermione,” Mrs. Granger and/or Dr. Wilkins said with a smile as she sat down beside the examination chair. “Gosh, that’s a gorgeous name. I’ve never heard it before.” 

Hermione’s heart throbbed. 

A moment later, Mr. Granger appeared, shutting the door behind him. He turned around and startled. “Oh! I’m sorry, dear, I didn’t realize you already had this room covered. Must be distracted.” He laughed, and turned to exit. 

Hermione sat up in the chair and pulled off the napkin. 

Severus stood, put his hands on Mr. Granger’s shoulders, and guided the man into the chair he’d just been occupying. “I’ll need you to hold still,” he said, looming with a thin smile, as the room darkened from his magic. 

“What’s all this--” Mr. Granger stiffened as Severus snapped his fingers. Mrs. Granger let out a cry. Both of them slumped backwards in their chairs, as one. Hermione leaned over, checking her mother’s eyes. She wasn’t unconscious, just probably overwhelmed with all the memories. 

“Gods, I forget you can do that thing,” Hermione muttered as she stood up. 

“What thing?”

“The dark and terrifying thing. We apparating while they’re… otherwise occupied?”

Severus nodded. “I’ll get your father. Quickly, before the potion really hits.”

Hermione grabbed her mother and summoned her wand. 

A moment later, with two pops, they appeared in the Wilkins’ living room. “I hope apparating didn’t fuck with the potion too much,” Hermione said as she floated her mother onto the sofa. Her father joined her side. “This is going to be the worst part.” 

“I know.” He reached out, squeezed her hand. “Sit down. I’ll go… secure the location.” 

“Fucking spies,” Hermione muttered, as she curled up on an armchair and stared hopelessly at her parents. Fiddling with her bag, she pulled out the pair of secondary draughts and took a look around. 

The sitting room was quaint and spacious and organized just like it had been in her childhood. She could see the kitchen around the corner, past a pot of her mother’s favorite flowers. Her heart clenched. It even all smelled the same. 

Severus was making a real ruckus. She frowned, looking at what he was doing. He was closing all of the blinds and curtains, locking the windows, and warding any entrances. Once he was content, he returned, leaning against a wall behind Hermione and crossing his arms, looking very tall and dark and brooding. 

“Was that really necessary?” she asked. 

He shrugged. “Force of habit.” 

She rolled her eyes. “I am not keeping my parents hostage--”

Her father screamed and threw himself out of the chair. 

Hermione was at his side in an instant, casting diagnostics while she caught his face, preventing him from crashing face-first into the coffee table. Her mother followed a moment later, but less aggressively, instead just bursting into sobs and curling up on the couch. 

“Robert,” her mother sobbed. 

“I’m here, Jean, I’m here--” He tried to get to her mother, but stumbled.

“Okay, that’s good, real name,” Hermione muttered, catching her father again and helping him to the couch. He shoved her backwards, and she hissed as she hit the table, hopping a little as she regained her balance. “Ouch. Fuck. Okay. No… Yes, tests are coming up normal…” The shimmering light in the air and ticker tape flowing from her wand all read exactly as things should be. “I think… I think it worked?”

“You!” Jean shrieked, clutching Robert and sobbing. “You did this?!”

Hermione nodded. “There was--”

“Our own daughter!” Robert roared. Hermione flinched back. “You--witch! You threw us out like trash!”

Hermione felt very far away. “There was a war,” she said. “They were going to kill you--”

“Bullshit!” spat Jean. “After we supported and trusted you!”

“Both subjects awake. Displaying confusion, anger, and aggression,” Severus noted grimly. Also unhelpfully, but Hermione knew he had to keep notes for the mastery, and what he was verbally reciting was being noted by a charmed quill. “Clinging to familiarity. Lashing out.”

“I’m sorry!” Hermione tried, stuffing her wand back in its holster. She knew this would happen, but that didn’t make it hurt any less. “I was so scared--they’d kill you!”

“Second draught being administered now, twenty-six minutes after first,” Severus murmured, and flicked his wand. 

Jean hiccupped. “What is that man doing to us?”

“Stopping the tantrum.” Severus walked forward to stand by Hermione. She trembled, and slumped against him, willing herself not to sob. The tears came nonetheless. 

It was another few moments before her parents looked at her again. 

“You tossed us away,” Robert growled. “Abandoned us, and now you want to come back?”

Jean just shook her head. “I’m disgusted. You and your strange powers, strange ideas.” 

It was all too much. Hermione collapsed to the ground, sobbing. 

“Hmm,” Severus noised. “Difficult to tell if this is the side effects still, or just your parents being assholes.” 

“They’re nice!” Hermione spat at him, and immediately flinched away as she realized she was also lashing out. “They’re just--angry with me. Rightfully.”

“Very rightfully!” Robert bellowed, standing up and marching toward her. “You waltz into our house, after we rebuild our lives--”

“There was a war!” Hermione yelled. “They were going to kill you! They nearly killed me!” 

“We would’ve been fine!” Jean retorted, seething. “We’re not children, we’re adults! This foolishness couldn’t have hurt us!”

“You’ve seen magic just as I have!” Hermione pushed herself to her feet, facing down nose-to-nose with her father. She refused to take this sitting down. “It isn’t all sparkles and chocolate frogs and magic trains! People wanted to hurt you! I’m not going to fucking apologize for doing whatever I could! I knew you’d never listen! Never understand that I could know better than you!”

There was a blur, and suddenly Robert was frozen, one hand about to wrap itself around her arm. Hermione’s eyes flew open. Almost belatedly, she heard Severus snap out the incantation for a full-body bind.

Severus waved a hand and Robert glided silently across the wood floor and back onto the couch. 

“Alright,” he drawled. “You don’t get to touch her until after your time out.” One ebony brow raised. He turned to her, and his voice lowered and softened. “Hermione,” he said. “This is no longer side effects. This is just shock and trauma.”

“Fuck,” she muttered. “That means the potion didn’t work.”

“Oh, it very much worked,” he chuckled. “Even the most experienced wizards have difficulty shrugging off that much memory alteration. The fact that they're not catatonic is remarkable. This is just what happens when someone loses three years of their life to something they believe is harmless, no matter the reason.” He reached out, and put a hand on her shoulder. “Go to the kitchen. Make some tea. Alright? I am going to sit down and have a little chat with your parents about the dangers of magic and the reality that you saved them from. I think that, despite their restored memories, they simply don’t understand what danger they were in. I will… remedy that.” 

“Don’t hurt them,” she murmured. 

“I would never. Alright?”

She looked at him, teary-eyed, then reached up and put her hand on his. “I trust you. I’ll… be in the kitchen.” 

Hermione turned to go, feeling her parents’ gazes piercing into her as she headed out the door. As she glanced over her shoulder, she saw Severus sweep his arms out. 

The coffee table and armchairs swept to one side of the room, and a simple wooden chair from the dining room flew into his waiting hand. He walked over to place the chair in front of her parents, with the back facing them. Then he sat down on it backward, leaning forward and resting his arms on the backrest. 

“My name is Severus Snape,” he purred in his baritone voice, and she recognized that he was about to enjoy teaching someone a lesson. It was the same tone as he used in particularly vindictive detentions. But she trusted him. As she watched, he took off his leather jacket and began, with precise flicks, to roll his emerald green sleeves up, revealing the scars and faded Dark Mark. “I am a professor at Hogwarts Academy. Today, I’m going to teach you about a man called Tom Marvolo Riddle.”

Drama queen. She loved him. She smiled, weakly, at him, and he smiled back.

Hermione turned, went into the kitchen, and shrouded herself in a muffliato as she began tea.


	37. Chapter 37

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really appreciate all of the support! I've decided to not write filler, since I'm coming up on the end here and don't want to make it more laborious for either of us to go through. As such, the chapters may be a bit more spaced apart. Love you all and hope you enjoy! This chapter is mostly recap of the books but hopefully still has some decent sensory descriptions, lmao.
> 
> Content warning for explicit descriptions of gore and pain and general torture-y stuff.

Severus made sure Hermione was gone before he continued, turning to her parents with a smooth smirk. “I believe you Muggles have a saying about sticking one’s head in the sand--” he resisted the desire to instead say ‘up their own asses,’ which would probably be as accurate “--and quite frankly it’s very unbecoming. Legilimens.”

The most talented legilimens could create memories. But it did not take much talent to simply share memories, as one might with a Pensieve. 

He dove into their minds, and then pulled themselves back into his own. 

Now, the three of them stood within a massive library. Once they had manifested bodies in his mind’s space, he let go of the binding that was stopping them from interacting with him within his mind. 

Immediately, both of them continued shouting, then froze as they suddenly realized where they were. 

Cavernous ceilings disappeared into darkness above them, supported by alabaster pillars. Many, many books filled the shelves--and not normal books, either. Books in different languages. Books in code. Books written so one could only read them in a mirror. 

“Where are we?” Robert asked. 

“You’re in my head,” Severus told them with a nasty sort of brightness. 

“How did we… get here?” Jean was looking around at all the books. Her expression was one that Severus recognized from Hermione and books, even if it was guarded from fear. 

“I brought you here so I could show you some memories. You’re going to learn what it’s like to live through a magical war. You’ll experience it from my perspective--a bit like an all-immersive telly, I’d imagine. And like the telly, you’ll be able to talk over it, unless I tell you to shut up.” He beckoned, and with or without their cooperation (more without, given Robert’s shout of alarm), they followed him. “We’ll be reliving some of my least favorite bits,” he told them, flinging his arms open and walking backwards like a sort of tour guide. Merlin, but he did love to be a dramatic asshole. “Your daughter has asked me to not hurt you, so you will not experience pain. But I cannot promise that you will emerge unscarred. Let’s begin… twenty-two years ago.” 

He brought up the memory, and in the library, a deep dark pool opened beneath their feet--and a moment later, they all fell through. 

They landed in eighteen-year-old Severus’ eyes. He looked around at the people. Lucius, masked. Yaxley, masked. Dolohov, masked. They were flanked by blank grimaces of the black and white masks with their intricate detail.

And Tom. Unmasked. Smiling. Charming, handsome, wickedly intelligent. 

“I’m so glad you’ve decided to join us, Severus. I knew you were someone special. Hold out your left hand.”

This was where it would begin, young Severus thought as he extended the hand toward Tom, pulling up his sleeve. He had found his people. They would give him power, acceptance… and he would rule with them. 

Tom pointed his wand at Severus’ arm. 

He barely heard the incantation before the sudden burning. Although Severus blocked out the pain, he didn’t block out the rest--the nausea, the sudden hit of adrenaline, the scent of burning flesh and death, the sudden numbness in his arm. 

“You’re one of us now,” Tom whispered. 

Eighteen-year-old Severus collapsed into darkness. 

The dark swirled and rematerialized into night. Older now. Twenty or so. He ran toward the Potters’ house. 

The emerald stars in the sky mirrored the tattoo on his arm.

“Fuck,” twenty-year-old Severus swore, and ran. 

The house was on fire, but he pushed through the flames, batting them out when they hit his robe and ignoring them when they scorched his leg. No pain would be passed to the Grangers, but he didn’t block the acrid claws that dove into his airways and the darkness throbbing at the edges of his vision or the heat, the fucking heat, heat like he was cooking alive. He stumbled to James--dead, seared by the Killing Curse--and to Lily. 

Oh, gods, Lily. He clutched her and sobbed, different memories replaying through his head--through their heads. The two of them playing. Solace when no one else would give it to him. A young love. Insulting her. The fight. But no matter what, still adoring her. Still wanting the best for her. 

Tom. Tom had done this. Severus resolved then that he would become a double agent. He would not rest until Tom was dead.

The fire licked at his vision, smoke filling it with darkness. 

Smoke turned to the door of the infirmary as he shoved it open. “What now, Pomfrey?!” he snapped. Mid thirties. Hermione, paralyzed, on the bed. 

Jean cried out. “What happened to her?”

Her question was asked a moment later by Pomfrey. 

“Give me a blasted moment, woman,” memory Severus snapped at her, then went over to the annoying little chit. Annoying, useless little chit. He checked pulse. Sniffed breath. She smelled of iodine. Then looked at her eyes. 

Basilisk. The visions came to him unbidden. Tom, now pale-skinned and serpentine, calling on a great creature within the school. A snake as large around as his torso, if not more. Watching an unlucky victim be paralyzed in front of his eyes, a show of force. 

“Basilisk,” he whispered, stood up, and closed his eyes. The remedy for a basilisk’s gaze floated through his head, and then the darkness twisted again. 

A much older Hermione was on the infirmary bed now. “What this time?” Severus snapped as he looked down at her. 

Jean sobbed openly, and Robert let out an immense cry.

The entirety of her chest was obliterated. Bloody. Burnt. A gouge in her flesh. Her ribs had holes chewed out of them. Dolohov, Severus knew instantly. His gut cinched and he swallowed the bile and the metallic tang that hit the back of his airway like a punch. The girl was young and brilliant and she could’ve fucking died. 

“How the hell did she survive this, Potter?” Severus snapped as he knelt down, pulling potions from his robes. 

“She silenced him, sir,” Potter replied. “Before he cast it.”

“Bloody chit,” Severus muttered. “Get out. I will tend to her.” 

After she was stable, he reached into her mind. He had to know exactly how far the curse had hit. 

They were in the Ministry. Hermione was sneaking around, behind the veil of death, wand in hand. Dolohov sprang from a corner. 

He grinned wickedly, the predatory predilection showing full fangs. “The Mudblood,” he managed to hiss before Hermione struck him with a silencing charm. 

And then a moment later, the wordless purple fire, striking her chest. It burned deep into her body. The pain he masked for Jean and Robert--but not the scent of burning fire, their daughter’s soft “oh” and sudden awareness that she was about to die, and not the floor that rose up to meet her. Her head cracked on the ground and darkness enveloped them again. 

Severus pulled it open once more like curtains, darkness disappearing as he apparated into one of Tom’s meetings. 

They were in a deep, horrific dungeon of the Lestrange mansion. The air stank, so heavy with iron it felt like he was drowning in blood each time he breathed, like blood was bubbling up from his lungs. The iron tang dominated, but beneath it he could detect the gut-curling mix of excrement and necrotic wounds. 

He made his way through the dungeon corridors. His footsteps splashed sometimes, into dark puddles. He did not look down. He did not need to. He knew it was blood. 

A door opened to Tom and Bellatrix. Bellatrix had her beloved cursed knife there, the implement which he guessed had been used to produce such… effusive results. Severus sneered, and turned to Tom. 

“My lord,” he greeted Tom with a short but reverent nod. 

“Ah, Severus,” Tom replied, his voice smooth as snakeskin and bloody as that horrible fucking knife. “I’m glad you’re here for our… demonstration.”

“Of course, my lord,” Severus replied, occluding the tiny sliver of soul that cried out deep, so deep that Voldemort would never get to know it still lived. He felt distant from himself. Like this couldn’t be happening. His true feelings and self, so Occluded that even he couldn’t access them. “I am eager to serve.” 

“I want to discuss what we plan to do with… the Muggles,” Tom said. His voice was low, slithering, controlled, as he stepped around a table. A single, drugged Muggleborn wizard lay on it. “Mudbloods, too. Bella has developed an efficient method of elimination, and I would like you to implement it. Bella?”

Bellatrix cackled, showing her yellowing teeth. Drawing out a small pellet, she vanished it into the muggleborn wizard’s stomach. Severus set his jaw. 

The maggots came faster than the screaming. 

The man began to writhe and gurgle wetly and then the squirming started. They were crawling, exploding out of the poor man’s orifices--mouth, nose, ears, chewing through his eyes and a moment later devouring outwards from between his ribs and stomach, overflowing from the table and dying a few centimeters away from the body. 

“Corpsumer worms,” Severus said, as something deep within him died. He had never heard of the horrible maggots being adapted to eat a living body. 

“Indeed,” Tom said, as Bellatrix giggled. “I will need a concoction. I want to seed the Muggle water supply with these eggs, and a drug to allow them to more easily infect the Muggles.”

Severus nodded. No. Severus would not be complicit in this particular genocide. “I will begin work upon it immediately, my lord.” A false potion. He could pull it off, he knew it. 

Tom hissed, the air coming out of his slits. Nagini, that damn snake, slithered across the table at the noise. “You will not fail me, Severus.” 

“Never, my lord.”

“You will not fail me--!”

The Cruciatus hit him like a truck. He hid the pain from Jean and Robert, but the writhing he couldn’t, the muscle spasms as he screamed and felt the world shatter around him, the sudden and dizzying whirl of the room and the walls and the ceiling, the nerves twitching and the breathless vomiting immediately after the torture ended, watching distantly as his bile mixed with the dark blood on the floor. Fuck, was all he could think. 

“You will not fail me,” Tom insisted. “I have another task for you.”

“Always, my lord.”

“The Mudblood’s parents,” Tom said. “The Chosen One’s pet. They must be brought to me. I must learn how two Muggles created such power.”

“Of course, my lord.” The taste of vomit and blood in his mouth, he did not hide. 

“You will not fail me.”

Severus smiled. “Never, my lord.” 

And then unconsciousness claimed him. 

His eyes opened as he closed the door of the convertible, tucking the keys into his pocket. He looked up at the Granger residence. And then he went inside. 

The place was empty. He could see evidence of moving, and Robert gasped. 

“That was the day we left,” he said. 

“Yes,” Severus told him, then the memory continued. 

They weren’t here, past Severus decided, without a particularly thorough search. He could occlude the true vigor of the search from Tom, if Tom even remembered to ask. It would be easier to say that the parents were gone--and let Tom assume what he could for that. 

For a moment, Severus thought he saw a brown, curly-haired girl run past the sliding door. But, then again… perhaps he didn’t. 

He turned, and shut off the lights.

This time the darkness opened to him apparating, once more. Malfoy Manor, this time. No blood, but that didn’t mean anything. The war was in full force now, and every time he walked into Tom’s camp it was sticking his head in the guillotine, watching as the thread holding up the blade frayed.

“Ah, Severus,” Tom said. “Sit. We have saved you a place.” 

Severus sat. “Thank you, my lord.” 

There was a scream, and Tom whirled. “You useless worm!” he spat at the grubby man holding the prisoner. “What have I told you about keeping the prisoners quiet?”

The man mumbled apologies. 

Tom sighed, and beckoned forward with one yellowing fingernail. The woman floated forward. He could hear noises like Robert and Jean gagging, but he didn’t take his eyes from the memory, forcing them to look too. Her blonde hair was hanging limply, and her spine looked like it had been broken in at least three places. Her limbs were covered in open wounds, from burns to knife marks. 

“Bellatrix was kind enough to… save us a guest for tonight,” Tom said with a smile. “Some of you may know Charity Burbage. She was, until recently, a professor of Muggle Studies at Hogwarts. She taught all those impressionable young witches and wizards that Muggles--those pigs, those filth--were equals, not animals.” 

Charity met his gaze. Her eyes were foggy with pain. “Severus, please,” she whispered. “We’re friends.”

Memory-Severus swallowed the bile in his throat and laughed with the rest of the people at the table. In his laughter, he disguised a spell to blunt her pain. She would have a moment of peace before the end. That was all he could give her. 

And then, oh gods--

She still screamed, even with the relief he’d given her. The green lightning struck from Tom, and in a moment, Charity Burbage was gone. And then the snake was there. 

“I hate that snake,” Jean said. 

Current Severus snorted. “Me too.” 

“Nagini,” Voldemort whispered. “Feast, my pet.” 

He saw the teeth before the snake struck. 

Jean screamed, and so Severus let that memory fade to darkness. 

“That snake killed me,” he said. “It’s barely relevant, since I must show you…” 

His eyes opened to the Shack. He could feel his heartbeat waning. The pain of his entire body, the pain and the numbness, was almost too much for him to keep from them entirely. 

“Mr. Snape,” Robert said, brusquely. “Stop holding the pain back. I would know a fraction of what you and my daughter endured.” 

“Me too,” Jean said. “I don’t want to run from the truth. I can feel you having to relive it. Let us feel it too.” 

"I promised your daughter I wouldn't hurt you." 

Jean shook her head. "I understand that you are a man of your word, but I must ask nonetheless. I will tell Hermione I asked you to, if that helps." 

Severus laughed, awkwardly. “You really want to feel this one? It might be easier for me to show you a Cruciatus. This is the part where I die.” 

“Show us whatever you wish, but I want to feel my daughter’s pain,” Robert restated, firmly. 

“We will do a Cruciatus,” Severus murmured. “Since she endured one of those, I know for certain.” 

Potter knelt in front of him, with a vial, collecting his silvery-shimmery tears. 

Severus looked past Potter to Hermione. She was gaunt. Starving. Clearly. Bloodied. Unbroken. Brilliant. Her eyes burned. She would keep Potter alive, see him to the end… 

Darkness took him. 

“We’ll back up a bit here, to one of my… well. You asked for it.” 

He opened his eyes to Voldemort--Tom--pacing in front of him. “The Mudblood’s parents are where?!” he yelled. 

Here it came, thought memory Severus, as he recalled the Grangers’ empty house. 

“Gone, my lord.”

Jean gasped. “You--for us--” 

The curse hit a moment later. 

He blew open the senses of his memory. The pain that arced like electricity through each limb, each fucking neuron screaming as they were contorted and twisted within his very body, like Tom was reaching into his spinal cord and raking his fucking stupid fingernails through his senses, snake fangs ripping out individual nerves, the lights and darkness that mottled his vision, the sudden leaden numbness as his muscles spasmed. The vomit. The scent of blood. He’d bit through his lip, a hole in his flesh. He’d fix it later. He could only taste iron and acid and he couldn’t feel a bloody fucking thing and then Tom raised his wand again--

Severus snapped them out of the memory before the light reached his body and the curse hit for a second time. Jean and Robert’s projections in his mind were holding each other, and sobbing. 

“Please,” Jean said, and Severus arched a brow in the darkness. “I need to know. You’ve only shown us up to a year ago. What was after that? What else did my baby have to endure?”

Severus flicked through relevant memories, flashes occupying his mind that they observed. The trial. Manacles around his wrists. Hermione, standing in front of him, golden sunlight slanting down from the courtroom windows to illuminate her. The memory focused, even through the drugs and the pain, on her form. She was in green that day, her hair up, looking so immensely different but her voice still holding that fiery bite and brilliance. Hermione (an angel, that’s what she was, an angel) and Harry shouted about him being a double agent, saving Harry’s life from within Voldemort’s--Tom’s--cult, risking it for everyone… honestly the memory fogged over as memory Severus tuned Potter out, once Hermione had spoken her turn. He wanted to die.

He hopped away from that, satisfied that it had given them the chance to see their daughter healthy again. Then came her return to Hogwarts, Ron’s abuse in the stockrooms and memory Severus’ faint suspicion that the Weasley boy was mistreating Hermione, but not knowing what to do about it. Robert let out a wail at that concept. 

“I’ll kill that boy!” he yelled at memory-Ron. 

“Get in line,” Severus drawled, flicking forward. 

Rabastan. 

Hermione in the infirmary, three days of a coma. Jean cried out. And then Hermione waking up--attacking him reflexively, before vomiting twice, and letting him see her memory. 

“Oh, this is uncomfortably meta,” Severus murmured. “You’re viewing my mind’s memory of looking into her mind’s memory of looking into her ghostly cat’s mind.” 

“I don’t even know what--what that means,” Jean sobbed. 

He flicked them forward again in a blur of darkness. The battle against Rabastan. He’d been flying that day--the students on brooms, but him unsupported--over the swarms of Inferi. 

“I’m going to immerse you fully in this one,” he said as a warning. 

Robert nodded. “Please. Please do.” 

Severus opened it up again. The powerful constraint of unaided flight, the smooth wood of his wand, the smell of rotting corpses. As he lowered toward the field, he could see their many bony bodies and gaping eye sockets, the skeletal arachnids, the giants with their ungainly frames…

Magic gathered around him as memory Severus cast and Robert gasped. “Is this what it feels like?”

“Yes,” Severus murmured. 

The fireball flung from his wand in a scorching burst, the world rippling around it as the flames superheated the air. It slammed into a group of Inferi, and the scent of burnt flesh reached his nose along with the crackling of Inferi dying, but more just swarmed and swarmed… 

Potter and Granger zipped past, so fast he was buffeted by the wind of their departure, and Severus cursed. Those two would always go getting themselves hurt. He soared up, grabbed a handful of his firebombs, and scattered them absentmindedly behind him as he moved to follow Potter and Granger. 

Undead giants were moving to flank them. Severus levitated a trio of firebombs, and sent them zipping toward one giant. All three missiles ploughed into the creature, but he wasn’t even watching, he was realizing that Hermione was falling--

She landed. Fire raged around her, but Severus didn’t allow himself relief. Instead, he kicked the feet from the nearest Inferi and shot up into the sky, dropping bombs after himself and aiming for Hermione again--

The world warped around him, and he slammed through an undead giant’s chest cavity, but it was too late. She was swallowed up by the bodies--

Jean screamed. 

And then there were five sudden explosions, and Hermione’s body flew into the forest. 

“Fucking useless, Potter!” memory Severus screamed as he tried to turn to the forest, but the remains of the undead dragon-beast were turning to him, and those horrible lamprey-teeth were gnashing at him. The teeth, which he could see in exquisite detail, made of broken bone. Shattered splinters of bone dangled from them as they churned, rotting flesh flying from the mouth like spittle as the beast roared.

Severus growled, cast a series of wards, and then stared the beast’s mouth down, a handful of firebombs ready. 

It lunged for him. 

He threw the bombs in and ran, the gnashing teeth swallowing the bombs and toppling a tree as thick as a car. He half-flew as he ran, dodging splinters and shredded tree, gathering more bombs and waiting for it to lunge once more, twisting and dodging as it destroyed trees, boulders, bodies. He could hear Potter shouting orders and organizing where the bombs were dropping, blowing apart its terrible limbs. 

“Potter!” he screamed. “Handle it!”

He’d carefully Occluded his feelings about Hermione from her parents up until that point, but he wasn’t sure he could hold it together during the battle, when he’d found her almost dead. 

Severus turned toward the forest, and without hesitation lurched forward, half-flying and half-apparating through the trees. Rabastan, where was Rabastan--

He heard the duel before he saw it. A tree exploded near him, and he landed on the ground, running into the scene and stopping only to step carefully from the shadows. He would get the draw on Rabastan. 

Hermione was bloodied against the tree, but his heart clenched with the knowledge that she was okay. Thank Merlin. He couldn’t have lost someone he loved a second time. He kept his face expressionless, Occluding to dangerous levels as he strode forward. He needed to distract Rabastan. 

“You survived,” he said by way of introduction. He didn’t even pay attention to Rabastan’s stuttering words. He was sizing up the situation. Were there other Death Eaters remaining? He needed to know, before he could make a move to keep her safe. 

Rabastan said something about Voldemort rising up again. You know, after they killed him the first seven or eight or arguably nine times.

“Indeed he will. Did any other of his loyal servants make it out alive?”

“None. The Chosen One and his cronies made sure of that,” Rabastan spat. “Some of us are in Azkaban. We are the last free Death Eaters left.”

That was it. His cue. There was one enemy. And he walked forward, getting between Rabastan’s line of fire and Hermione. To make it convincing, he would have to turn his back on an enemy--never a good plan--but he needed to ensure she was safe. 

Rabastan was nearly dead. He just had to keep Hermione from him for a moment longer--

And then she screamed “HARRY NOW!” and lunged to the side. Reflexively, Severus turned and aimed the curse right for Rabastan. The fierce, cutting hatred flew from his hand, and he could hear Jean and Robert gasp at the power which surged from him. 

Rabastan crumpled but Severus’ eyes were on the green light, the killing curse, and he stepped between it and Hermione once more--

The wand clattered to the ground. Hermione giggled. She fucking giggled. Asshole. Here he was, flipping his shit, and she could just giggle at him like this was all fucking fine. 

Memory Severus looked down at her with inordinate fondness and inordinate exasperation. “Fucking hell, Hermione, never do that again.”

He skipped forward again, to Pomfrey’s diagnosis. “Concussion, sprained ankle, fractured leg, magical exhaustion, blood loss…” and then forward again. 

The Ministry Ball. He showed them Hermione, gorgeous Hermione, there was no way he could occlude the admiration here, but he managed to suppress some of the less choice and more lecherous desires, as she smiled that wicked smile and held up her arm. 

MUDBLOOD. 

Bellatrix flashed before his eyes and he knew instantly, and the thought destroyed him. The thought of Bellatrix, torturing Hermione--

He wrenched them out of the memory. 

“I do not have her experience with Bellatrix,” he said. “I do not envy anyone who had to endure that witch.”

“Is--the tart, Bellatrix--is she dead?” spat Jean with such fury that Severus was suddenly aware of which side of the family Hermione got her temper from. And here he’d been thinking it was her dad. 

“Yes,” Severus replied. “Very dead.”

“Good,” Jean snarled. 

The scene shifted again, and they were back in the library of his mind. “I’m going to release you now,” he informed them. “I will not tell you what to do, but I will say that I think you owe your daughter an apology.”

“Several,” Robert said. “God, how could we have been so stupid?”

Severus shrugged. “Confusion. Fear. Betrayal. They make people do many stupid things.” The scene around them flickered briefly, to the memory of Lily and James, the horrible instinct of anger and not understanding, and all of the horrible things he’d done. “I am in no position to judge, I assure you,” he said as he got his mind back under control. “That’s why it’s me talking to you. Because I can show you the very fucking worst of what you would’ve dealt with, had she not saved you. Tom was fascinated by you. He wanted you, to dissect you and know what had made your daughter. And she, turned into breeding stock, assuming she survived.” 

And then he ended the spell. 

Both of them jerked suddenly as they were returned to the real world. They stared at him, at the faded Dark Mark on his arm. He smiled. 

“Your daughter is in the kitchen,” he said. “I will follow once I reassemble your living room.” 

“Mr. Snape,” Jean said, standing up. 

“Severus,” he replied. 

She nodded. “Severus. Thank you. I’m sorry we treated you abominably. It was a lot to process. Thank you for showing me--us--and helping us understand.” 

Jean gave Robert a meaningful look and then turned to the kitchen. 

Robert went to Severus. “I know you’re impossibly powerful, but I will gut you like a pig if you hurt my daughter.” 

Severus smiled thinly. “I’ve put my life on the line for her too many times to try.” 

Robert shook his head. “That’s not what I’m talking about.” And then he left for the kitchen. 

Fuck. 

With a sigh, Severus let his head hit the back of the chair with a thunk.


	38. Chapter 38

From the kitchen came general sounds of reconciliation, a lot of the word “sorry,” and even more sobbing. Severus winced as he sat in the chair, nerves rubbed raw. Those memories were never easy to relive, and especially not when he had to Occlude only certain points. It was doable, he’d done similar things countless times before, but that didn’t make it any less of a bitch. It was like cutting open an old scar, slowly, with a stitch ripper, while pretending it didn’t hurt.

Also he was pretty sure her parents knew he was in love with their daughter. It had been a risk, but one he’d been willing to take. Anything, to get Hermione her family back. 

Taking a deep breath, he squared his shoulders again and stood up. A wave of his hand and the living room’s furniture shifted back to its original configuration. And then he went to the kitchen to face the music. 

“Sev!” 

A mess of Granger curls bounced over to him and hugged him tight. He smiled, hiding it in her mess of hair and wrapping his arms back around her. “Everything okay now?”

“They said you showed them everything,” Hermione murmured, looking up at him. “Are you okay?”

“Answer my question first.” 

“I’m fine, they’re… I mean, they’re a mess, but they’re fine, but not everything is okay unless you’re also okay.” 

Severus rolled his eyes. “You’re impossible.” 

Hermione’s eyes narrowed. “That doesn’t answer the question." She stood up on her tiptoes as if that would give her some more insight into him. (It probably would, truthfully, if only because the nearer she got the harder it was to keep his cool.) “Sev, I’m so sorry, if I would have known you’d do something like that I never would’ve let you--”

“That’s why I didn’t tell you,” he replied, quietly, tilting his head forward so that his hair fell in a protective curtain against the concern in her gaze. It heated his cheekbones, and he didn’t need the Grangers more suspicious than they already were. “Honestly, Hermione. It was nothing. Your parents needed to understand, and this was the easiest way.” 

“Sev…” 

“I promise, it’s fine. I’ll probably leverage this for a back massage later, if that makes you feel better.” 

She sighed, which he was pretty sure meant that it didn’t help. “Thank you,” she whispered, looking up at him with those big golden eyes. “I still…” 

“I know,” he replied, just as quietly.

Biting her lip, Hermione glanced over her shoulder at her parents. “Come on.” She put a hand between his shoulders and guided him over to one of the chairs at the dining table, sitting him down in it. On the table was a glass of ice water, a trio of red pills, and a vial of pain-numbing potion. “Ibuprofen and pain numbing. I didn’t know which you’d prefer.”

Merlin, she was an angel. 

“All of the above,” Severus muttered as he downed the pills and shotgunned the potion. 

While he took a moment to rest, Hermione leaned against the back of his chair. 

“Thank you again, Severus,” Robert said. “And we’re very sorry.” 

“It’s okay,” Hermione said. She was smiling again. Severus noted the expression and took a sip of water to hide his own smile. “I’m just glad you’re okay and that you’re not mad.” 

“I’m so sorry we couldn’t save you from… any of that,” Jean murmured. “I feel like we’ve failed as parents.” 

“You haven’t!” Hermione insisted, hurrying over to hug them. “You’re here now, supporting me, aren’t you? That means you’re here for me. Honestly the war wasn’t even that bad, besides all the torture and starvation.” 

“Hermione, you are the least convincing person I’ve ever met,” Severus muttered over the glass of water. 

"We should have done more. And from now on, I promise, we will support you no matter what." Jean emerged briefly from her daughter's hug to grab another tissue, wiping away more tears. “You're a force of nature, darling, I don't think I could ever be more proud of you." She smiled, hugging Hermione tight, and something warm blossomed in Severus' heart as he saw Hermione's smile and tears as she pressed herself closer to her mother. Jean, meanwhile, turned to acknowledge him with a teary smile of her own. "And Severus. Thank you for supporting our daughter where we could not.” 

“Oh, I wouldn’t thank me for that.” He laughed mirthlessly and leaned back in the chair. “I was an abominable shit to her.” 

Hermione also laughed, but hers was actually authentic. “No you weren’t! You saved Harry and Ron and me a bunch. What’d you show them? Did you show them your heroic and dashing rescues?”

“I am certainly not heroic or dashing,” Severus growled. 

“He showed us the basilisk, Dolohov’s curse, when Tom came for us, Rabastan in the forest, and when you got out of the coma,” Jean listed, counting off on her fingers like Hermione might. Those two really were related.

“Oh, he skipped over the best parts,” Hermione replied, grinning. “Let’s see. The time he tried to convince me to not go wandering around the castle when the basilisk was out?”

“No,” Robert said, looking between them. “He didn’t mention that.” 

Severus grumbled, grabbing the water again. He wished it would hide the blush.

“Oh! How about the time that he knew Harry and I were right next to him when Tom was about to kill him, and didn’t even look at us?”

“He didn’t mention that either.” Jean was staring at him now with big eyes. 

“Hermione,” Severus muttered. “You are greatly exaggerating.”

“What about the werewolf?”

“Wait, werewolves are real?” Robert blurted. “Is he a vampire? Is this some sort of--”

“The werewolf doesn’t count!” Severus exploded. “It was my own damn fault anyway!”

“Or the other time the same werewolf nearly killed him? And then he still jumped between us and the wolf?”

“It doesn’t count!” Severus rolled his eyes, leaning back to rest his head on the chair. “I was the one who didn’t give Remus his fucking Wolfsbane potion because I was busy being a shitty pissant--”

Hermione laughed. “Or what about the time that Quirrel was trying to kill Harry and Severus was counter-cursing him but I thought Severus was the one doing the curse so I lit him on fire?”

“That doesn’t count ei--” Severus froze, then sat up and stared at her. “Wait. That was you?!”

Hermione nibbled on her lip, evading eye contact. “Uhh, forget I said anything.” 

“You were the little shit that lit me on fire!” He broke into a bemused and startled laugh, unable to hide it after all the occlusion he just managed. “I always wondered who was behind it. Should’ve known it was you, Potter and Weasley couldn’t fucking manage bluebell fire to save their lives.” 

Hermione looked suitably chastised, her cheeks pink. 

“Oh, or what about the time someone stole from my ingredient stores?” he pressed on, fully intending to take the advantage. His turn to embarrass her in front of her parents. “And then contaminated her fucking polyjuice with cat hair? So I had to get her ass out of half-cat form in the damn infirmary?!”

“It worked great!” Hermione blurted. “If not for the contamination!”

He grinned, leaning back, satisfied in her very flushed expression. “I can’t believe you brewed that in a fucking lavatory and the only contamination was the fucking cat hair.” 

“Don’t swear in front of my parents!”

“They were just in my head, Hermione,” he drawled. “I assure you that they learned some new words during their stay.” 

“Oh my god.” Hermione groaned and covered her face with her hands. 

Jean cleared her throat, and Severus turned to find the two of them watching Hermione and he with something unreadable and smug. Severus swallowed, suddenly very nervous. 

“You never introduced us to Severus formally,” Jean said, her tone and smile sweet. 

“So that’s where you get the ominous innocent smile,” Severus muttered. 

Robert nodded. He looked immensely traumatized at the mention of The Smile. “It’s scary,” he stage whispered to Severus. 

“O-Oh,” Hermione said. She glanced at him, and he just shrugged helplessly and let her take the lead. Or metaphorically cowered behind her, not that he’d ever admit to it. They’d talked about introducing him to her parents, and how that would work given that he was nearly as old as them and they were definitely in a committed relationship, but Severus had brushed away that part and assured her it’d be fine. Truthfully he was shitting himself over it, but Hermione had way too much to worry about with just getting her parents through the hell of remembering their lives, that he hadn’t wanted her to worry. 

Her family was the important part. He was secondary. No matter how much Hermione insisted she wasn’t going to leave him, he still feared it and he didn’t want to break up their family (again) over something as small as him. 

“Well, mom, dad, this is Severus,” Hermione said, gesturing to him. Severus just stared at her, suddenly deer in wandlight again. This was fine. His social anxiety was through the fucking roof. “I’m currently apprenticing under him in potions, and he taught me before that.” 

Severus winced. “‘Taught’ is generous.” 

“Shhh,” she said. “Now, Severus is, uh… also my--”

Here it came. Time for her parents to hate him. Severus steeled himself. The screaming would start after the initial shock. He would have to transfer her to another potions master, or finish her apprenticeship early, that might work better. He didn’t really want her to have to endure Slughorn--

“Husband!” Jean blurted. “I knew it! Oh, but I’m so sad that I missed the wedding.” 

And then nasty old lecher Severus could disappear into the shadows and let the brightest witch of her age flourish--

\--wait. 

Husband?

Robert nodded enthusiastically, eyes tearful. “I can’t believe I missed the chance to give away my baby. Do you think you could hold a renewal of vows, so we could be there? Or another wedding for your non-magical family? If it wouldn’t be too much trouble.” 

_Wedding?_

Jean rushed forward and took Hermione’s hands in hers, eyes shining with excitement. “What was it like? Where’d you hold it? Where’s the ring, darling? I can’t believe my daughter’s married! And to such an excellent man! Robert, you must take our new son-in-law to drinks, show him the house while I get all the details of the wedding.” 

** _Son-in-law?!_ **

Severus stared at Hermione. Then Jean. Then Robert. No. No, this was all wrong. His eyes unfocused as his brain shut down. “What,” was all he could say. It wasn't a question. It was a statement.

“Married?” Hermione squeaked. 

Jean nodded, bouncing up and down like Hermione did. “Yes! I mean, you came to our practice as husband and wife and I’m absolutely certain that I remember you from the restaurant a few months ago--you were there then, and you called him your husband then too! When’s your anniversary?”

Severus whirled on Hermione. “This is your fault--” 

Hermione colored brightly and began to laugh, although it sounded more like hysterics. “Oh fuck,” she said. “Oh, _fuck.”_

“I claim absolutely no responsibility for this,” Severus said, looking accusingly at Hermione. 

“It’s true. Don’t blame him, Hermione.” Robert beamed at them. “He tried to hide it from us when he let us in his head,” Robert said, gesturing towards the living room. “But it permeates the entire way he looks at you! After the trial, you practically glowed in all of his memories.”

Severus whirled and stared at him. “She does?!”

“Oh fuck,” Hermione repeated.

Robert was smiling and his eyes were distant, like he was in a different place. “And at the ball, I could feel it. It was like falling in love with your mother all over again. That’s the sort of devotion I want a man to have towards my daughter.” He walked forward and patted Severus, hard, on the back. Severus felt like he was a glass vial about to shatter in the hands of a very dumb first year. “Not like that _Ron_ fellow.” 

“Oh my god,” Hermione said, her face still hidden behind her hands. “Okay. Well. We’re not yet married--”

Jean made a disappointed noise. “You haven’t locked him down already?!”

Severus started to think he was in the wrong reality. 

“--Mom!” Hermione squeaked. “We’re dating, okay? And it’s serious but he didn’t want to do anything until we tried to restore your memories so he could make sure he wasn’t going to make you throw a fit.” 

Robert’s thick hands suddenly grasped Severus around the shoulders. Severus made a brief panicked noise. “Severus,” Robert said. “What needs to happen to convince you to propose to our daughter?”

This was wrong. This was distinctly wrong. People were not supposed to be eager to have him date their twenty-years-younger daughter. “I think I need to lay down." 

Hermione came over, gently prying Robert off of him. “You gotta be careful, dad." She smoothed a hand over Severus' shoulderblades, and he released the tension that he didn't even know had built up there. "He’s really nervous about physical contact.” 

“Oh! I’m so sorry.” 

“It’s fine,” Severus assured him. The world was not right. “Hermione, are you sure that potion was correctly labelled? I think I’ve finally gone mad.”

“No, Sev,” she said, helping him up and towards the living room. Her touch was feather-light, her skin soft, a balm against the residual pain from reliving that many painful memories. “My parents are just dumbasses. Come on.” 

“Guest bedroom’s this way!” Jean chirped helpfully, breezing past them and throwing open the door. “I hope the bed’s alright, Severus is very tall.” 

“I’m definitely mad,” Severus muttered as Jean flitted around them, getting more pillows and blankets. "I knew it would come eventually." 

“You two just came from England, right? You must be very tired. I’m going to go talk to Robert and see how soon we can move back. No canoodling, now!” Jean kissed Hermione on the forehead and was gone. 

Severus sank onto the bed. He was suffering an imminent break from reality. All of the torture and pain over the years, he knew it was coming. The stress of Hermione’s parents’ rejection must’ve just been too much for his shattered mind to handle. “This is it,” he repeated. “I’ve finally snapped. I’m so sorry, Hermione.” He reached out to stroke her hair, grabbing a pillow with his other hand and hugging it tight to his chest. “I’m sorry I can’t be there for you. I thought I had a few more years left in me. You’ll come and visit me in the Janus Thickey ward, right?” The thought of her being absent broke his heart. He looked at her, willing the tears out of his eyes. “Please? I’d understand if you didn’t want to.” 

Hermione shook her head. “Severus, you are not insane,” she said, easing him back towards the pillows. He went willingly. Hermione would take care of him. “My parents want you to marry me. Now lay down. I’ll stay with you and there will be no canoodling.” She pried the pillow out of his arms and replaced it with herself, then curled up and held him tight. 

His last thought was that he could probably pretend to be sane long enough to finish the paperwork for her mastery. Then, if he was lucky, he'd hang on to reality long enough to see her married off and truly happy, before letting his sanity ebb away in the sterile solitude of the Janus Thickey ward.


	39. Chapter 39

Hermione hadn’t intended to sleep, but apparently emotional roller coasters were tiring. She fell asleep quickly against Severus’ warmth. She woke up before him, and gently teased his hair while he continued to snore rhythmically. Circe, what a stubbornly self-effacing man. She smiled over at him. 

After maybe half an hour, he awoke with a start, eyes flying open. That piercing black gaze focused first on her, then on the ceiling, then on the decor of the room. 

“Morning,” she said. 

He lifted his head, glancing around. “This isn’t. This isn’t Hogwarts.” 

“No, we’re still at my parents’ house.” She continued to play with his hair.

“I thought you would’ve taken me back by now.” His adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, and glanced around warily. “How bad did it go?”

Hermione couldn’t help a sad smile. He was so set in his belief that he wasn’t accepted. She understood, but it hurt tremendously, to see how deep his insecurities ran. “It went great, Sev. They would like you to marry me.” 

She could feel him tense beside her. “What?” he whispered, then looked at her and around the room. “Holy shit, that wasn’t a dream? I… it was real?”

“Yes, Sev.” She sat up with him, cupping his cheek with a hand and snaking the other arm around him to pull them together. “Are you okay? You seemed really… surprised. I wasn’t sure if it was just aftershocks from the pain, or the potion, or…” 

She trailed off when she noticed the glimmer in his eyes. That was an expression she’d rarely seen on him before, if ever. Tilting her head, hermione tried to figure it out. Severus stared down at himself, then at her, then at where they were still touching. 

Was that… hope?

“It was real,” he said again, in the same firm voice he’d used when he realized she had saved his life, and Hermione felt a little reassured that he was grounded again. 

“Yes.” She stroked his hair, letting him process. 

Then, he made a noise that she’d never heard out of him before--a positively adorable little gasp--and buried his hand in her hair. “They’ll let me marry you.” 

“Yes,” Hermione confirmed, wary of his precise reaction. “In fact, they want you to. I can practically guarantee they’re out there right now trying to figure out exactly how to convince you. I want you to marry me too, but we’re not in a hurry and I don’t want you to feel like we are.” 

His eyes were gleaming. “We need to go back, to Diagon,” he said, as his eyes lit up. She recognized that look. It was the same look that she saw when he had figured out a new potion, or he was planning a date for them. “The Prince vault has some things I’ll need.” He pulled her tight to him, and she could hear his heart fluttering happily. “Oh, Merlin, I have to plan so much…” 

Severus smiled down at her, and Hermione melted against him. This was right. This was perfect. 

“What do you want, Hermione?” he asked.

It was an easy answer. She stretched up to press a quick kiss to the corner of his lips. “You, love. Ask as many times as you need, the answer won’t change.” 

He made that gasp again. “I want you too. More than anything else. But--we need a timeline.” 

Hermione felt suddenly she didn’t care. She lifted her hand up and twisted it in his hair. “I’m not too concerned. If you’d like, we could start with the engagement and just… wait to officially marry? That can give us time to release it to the press, Minerva, and everyone else.”

“Fuck the press,” Severus muttered, brow furrowing a little, as he stroked his hand up and down her back. Hermione relaxed into the touch. “They’ve only ever gotten in my way. But that’s a reasonable plan. Would you be happy, with that?”

She chuckled as her heart warmed. How many times was he checking in, asking whether or not she’d be happy. “Yes. I would be happy with whatever, as long as you are. Honestly, I’d be up for elopement, except I’ve already looked into it and there’s legality issues if we do that before my mastery is completed.”

“Oh, we can’t elope after today.” He glanced towards the door, and his lips quirked up lopsidedly. “I’ve just convinced you parents to like me. I’m not about to ruin that.”

Hermione laughed. “As long as we’re together, that’s what I care about. Isn’t it terribly cliche? I’ve never felt so much like a romance novel heroine in my life.”

He paused, thoughtful. “The words might’ve been said many times,” he replied after a long while. “But the sentiment is never one that’s been expressed towards me before, much less by someone that I want equally as badly. I don’t care what those words mean to others, I care about what they mean to you.” 

Hermione raised herself up to sit on his lap, kissing him on the lips. “I'm surprised at your lack of snark. A philosopher and a spy.” 

Sev rolled his eyes. “No,” he replied. “Just very, very in love.” He paused, and then a distinctly more mischievous glimmer appeared in his eyes. “You know… if you really want to make another statement like you did at the ball, I think I may have an idea or two.” 

***

There were a lot of things that needed to get done in preparation for an engagement, as it turned out. 

The first and foremost of Severus’ concerns was making sure that Hermione’s future would not be jeopardized by any proposal on his part. After discussion with Minerva and the Guild of Potioneers, it was decided to grant Hermione her Mastery. Her healing poultice tape, anti-anxiety potion, and memory restoration potion all soundly destroyed any protests about her expertise. The booming business she and Severus had set up involving the creation and sale of reagent-resistant variants of muggle cooking implements annihilated any questions about her innovation and creativity. Her work TAing and founding role in the DA covered the teaching requirement. 

With Hermione’s Mastery secured, Severus turned to other concerns. 

That was why he was nervously (very nervously) heading into the ancient Prince vault at Gringotts, with Minerva in tow. 

They stepped into the vault and set to work. Most of it was filled with old family records and even a few books, but there were also piles of old jewelry and heirlooms. Severus was wondering if he could find a ring that was similar to what he’d thought of that day when he was daydreaming, but as it turned out, they found something better. 

It was Minerva that found it first. Severus was alerted by a sudden gasp from his companion, and when he looked over, she was staring in open awe at a small velvet ring box. 

“Severus, come here. I think this may be it.” 

He hurried over. The ring’s central piece was a reddish-purplish gemstone, which was surrounded by small rectangular white diamonds that radiated out from it like a halo. The diamonds glimmered even in the dim light of the vault. 

“What is it?” he asked. Not a particularly intelligent question, but Severus knew jack shit about gemstones. 

“Alexandrite,” Minerva said, explaining nothing. “Watch.” Holding up her wand, Minerva cast a wordless lumos. As the light brightened, the gemstone shifted to a deep emerald color, and as she darkened the area, the stone once again became a rich ruby. 

“What the fuck,” Severus whispered, taking the ring from her. “How does it do that?”

“It’s a very rare and very precious stone, for both wizards and muggles. I think it’s something to do with the way the stone absorbs light,” Minerva said, putting away her wand. “I think the saying is ‘emerald by day, ruby by night.’” 

“Huh,” Severus noised, holding the ring up. He did like the concept of a ring that could show Hermione’s many different virtues--Gryffindor and Slytherin and even a touch of Ravenclaw, if it got bluish enough. The halo of diamonds, too, was appropriate, given how many times delirious or sober Severus had decided she was an angel. “This is it.” 

Minerva beamed at him. She held out the box. “Alright. Successful trip, then?”

“Very. Thank you, Minerva.” He took the box and secreted the ring back inside of it, casting several protective and tracking charms on it before tucking it into a pocket just over his heart. 

When Minerva reached up to pinch his cheek, Severus was almost too giddy to protest.


	40. Chapter 40

Outside of Hogwarts, Minerva held out her arm, which Severus took. Together, they apparated to Grimmauld Place. Twitchy as Severus was about the place, when Potter had suggested a party for celebrating Hermione’s Mastery and the graduation of Draco, Ginny, Neville, and Luna, he couldn’t say no. 

The two of them strolled up to the door, and were promptly let in by Kreacher. After thanking him, Severus was quickly recruited by Draco for help bringing up liquor from the cellar. 

“Glad to see you’re ditching the robes today,” Draco started conversationally as they went down the stairs. Severus looked down at his attire--green sweater, black pants--and wondered why it mattered at all. “I doubt McGonagall told you, but Hermione asked that this be a sort of stag party for you. Since you’re intent on marrying her soon, and she wants you to have fun. Flitwick and Vector will also be coming.” 

Severus noised noncommittally. “I don’t care for stags.” 

Draco laughed. “Not like that, godfather.” He signalled the lights as they reached the cellar, and hummed as he meandered towards the liquor cabinets and massive wine rack. “It’s something bachelors do, before they’re married.” 

Severus sniffed. “I don’t care about bachelors, either. This will hardly be a ‘loss of freedom’ for me, and I was under the impression that bachelor’s parties were typically a final hurrah sort of thing.”

“Typically, yes,” Draco said, pulling out a few bottles of wine. “But we all know you don’t care about that sort of thing, so everyone’s done their level best to put together something you’d enjoy. At the very least, Flitwick’s promised to challenge McGonagall to a drinking contest, so at least we’ll have that to look forward to.” 

“Don’t take up the challenge,” Severus warned Draco as the boy handed him several bottles. “Minerva can outdrink me, and I’ve been a dysfunctional alcoholic for the last twenty years.” 

“How the fuck does she manage it?” Draco asked as they headed back upstairs.

“Filius and I have a theory,” Severus replied as they stepped out. “We think she has an alcohol system, and sometimes it has blood in it.” 

Filius’ head poked up from behind the counter. “You talking about our Minerva theory?”

Severus nodded. “Yeah.”

The Charms Professor’s eyes glimmered fiercely with conspiracy. “It’s true. She’s inhuman.”

Draco laughed and continued to chat with Filius while Severus stepped around him and into the kitchen. He dropped the wine bottles on the counter, taking a moment to examine the other selection of drinks (several heavier hitters, including a firewhiskey he recognized from Minerva’s own collection). There were also a few other odds and ends, including a sparkling pomegranate liqueur that was titled, in unreasonably fancy script, Persephone’s Cocktail. 

Persephone was a pretty name, Severus thought to himself as he went into the dining room to help Ginerva set up a dessert bar. She was chattering, but Severus was lost in his thoughts, detached from the world. Persie was also a cute nickname. 

Ginny handed him a bowl of chips with instruction to bring it into the sitting room. The sitting room had a wide bay window that looked out over the late summer street, golden sunlight pouring in through the windows. Staring out the window, he thought about another sunny sitting room, and the way his hand had hovered protectively over Hermione’s stomach. 

Persephone Jean. Persephone Granger. Persephone Jean Granger. (No Snape, he would prefer to ditch the name as soon as possible.) That had a rhythm to it. And it seemed… fitting, given the figure that had brought them together. 

It wouldn’t happen for a while, and Severus was alright with that. He wanted Hermione to be ready, to be certain. And besides, he had a lot to handle just with preparing the engagement alone, and the Prince vaults hadn’t been tallied in… decades, at least. He needed an idea of where he stood financially, and also a far better home than Spinner’s End. 

“Sev?”

Severus startled a little and turned. Hermione stepped into the room, her hips swaying as she edged around the sofa to stand by him, in front of the little sunny nook of the bay window. Gently, she pried the bowl of chips from his hands and put it down on a nearby coffee table. 

“You okay?” she asked, her brow furrowed as she looked up at him. Her voice was soft. 

He brought up a hand to brush her cheek with the backs of two of his fingers. Her hair was loose and golden-brown in the sunlight, and her skin smooth underneath his touch. She smiled at him. 

No, he’d been wrong before, Severus decided. It wasn’t the fourth or fifth or even sixth time he’d seen an angel. Robert had said Hermione glowed in all of Severus’ memories after the trial. That was when it began. He could never count how many times he’d seen her, even after she saved his life that day, so he would never know the innumerable times he’d seen an angel. 

“Just thinking,” he said. 

She stood up on tiptoe and pressed a light kiss to the corner of his lips. “Okay. Just wanted to check in.” 

Severus glanced towards the door to the rest of the house. They were alone. He could hear, distantly, the sounds of laughter and the rest of their strange crew enjoying themselves. 

“I got you a ring.” Hermione chewed on her lip, fishing around in a pocket and pulling out a small box. “I don’t know… when you want it.” 

“Whenever you’d like yours, I suppose.” Severus took out his own box, then hesitated. He’d always been under the impression that proposals had to be big and dramatic and high-effort. “Would you like something with a bit more… ceremony?”

With a shrug, Hermione glanced up at him. “Doesn’t matter to me. The idea’s what counts. Besides, you’ve shown your thoughtfulness towards me in plenty of other ways.” 

Severus glanced away, towards the ground. “Not as much as I ought to have.” 

Hermione snorted and rolled her eyes. “Have we discussed your ridiculously high standards for yourself before?”

“And others.” 

“Oh, we’ve discussed that.” She grinned up at him, tracing a finger down the crook of his nose. He scrunched up his face. He would never figure out why she liked that thing. “Particularly since you still haven’t given me an Outstanding--”

“Dear Circe,” Severus groaned, letting his face turn skywards in exasperation as Hermione laughed and wrapped her arms around him. He tried to glare at her, but it came out very fond, unfortunately. “I cannot believe I’m going to hear about that for the rest of my life.” 

Raising up on her tiptoes, Hermione deposited a sweet kiss on his lips. “I can believe it. Now, I want to see if you like your ring.” 

“Hermione, its very presence is miraculous enough for me.” 

“Have we discussed your ridiculously low standards for yourself?” She grinned at him, all cheek, and pulled him tighter against her.

“You’re impossible. Now stop squirming, I have to do this properly.” Extricating himself from her arms, he took a knee and looked… well, he thought he’d be looking up, but apparently he was just looking directly across. Height differences. He hadn’t realized how short she was before. It was far more interesting to focus on their height difference or on her smile rather than the fact that he was pretty sure his heart was going far too fast now, and was about to keel over from the sheer workout of it all. He pulled open the box, staring at the fateful ring--_don’t fail me, you little bastard_\--before he offered it to her. “Hermione, will you marry me?” 

He’d been too afraid to try and parse her emotional reaction before, but he couldn’t ignore the blinding smile for much longer. Even if this had already been discussed, it was still stressful. And terrifying. 

“Yes, Severus,” she said, taking his face in both hands and leaning over to kiss him on the lips, short and sweet. “You can ask as much as you like, the answer isn’t going to change. Now put it on me.” 

“I don’t know if I could ask again,” he admitted, as he took her hand and pulled the ring from its case. “I think I’m about to have a heart attack.” After a moment’s waiting for her to pull away, he slid it onto her finger. 

“You think that now,” she said, one hand tangling in his hair and fingers gently scratching his scalp, while she held up the other to admire the ring. “But I fully anticipate many ‘are you sure about this, Hermione?’-s.” 

He sighed. “I sort of hate that you know me that well.”

She turned her hand to catch the light with the gemstone. “This is gorgeous, Severus. Is it alexandrite?”

“That’s what Minerva said.” 

She laughed at him. “It’s beautiful. Thank you.” 

Severus muttered something about it being no trouble, then blinked when she sat down on his knee. Could his old man knees take this? Honestly, they would probably deal with a lot worse for her. (And they weren’t nearly as awful as he liked to complain they were.)

With a snigger at his expression, Hermione took his hand. “Anyway. Now it’s your turn. I’m not even going to ask, though, I’m going to demand.” She leaned in, gently touching their noses together before she opened the box. “You’re marrying me.” 

His gaze trailed along the almost-bashful smile she gave as she took his ring finger in hers. “I fully intend to, Hermione.” 

He looked down at the ring as she slipped it on him. He hadn’t expected to either get a ring or enjoy a ring, but… wow. It was polished black stone, but in the light it shimmered and flickered and flared with a spectrum of colors, primarily greens and blues. “What is that?”

“Black opal,” she said, spinning it around on his finger. “I thought it a decent compromise between absolutely no color and a nice gemstone.” 

“Huh,” Severus noised, holding it up and imitating her earlier actions in examining the stone. “I… actually really like it. That’s unexpected.” 

Hermione giggled, doing a little fist pump. “Minerva will be so pleased.” 

At that, Severus glanced at her, before breaking into a semi-relieved laugh. “We both talked to Minerva, huh?”

“Yeah,” Hermione replied, wrapping her arms around his neck. “I had a few ideas, knew she was close to you, and figured she was the only mortal strong enough to withstand my incredibly anxious overplanning on jewelry shopping.”

“She really has been invaluable,” Severus murmured, and Hermione nodded, leaning her head against his. “I’m certain she enjoys that. She’s been trying to set this up from the beginning, do you know?”

Hermione nodded. “I guessed as much. Although she seemed more than willing to just give me tacit approval and let me take charge. But you might have to define ‘the beginning,’ there are a lot of options.” 

That was a good point. Severus hummed thoughtfully for a moment. “Since you came that extra day for potion-making, I think. That was when she… mentioned apprenticeship the first time. And then again, after you started showing up in the hallways where I walked.”

Her cheeks turned bright pink at that, and Severus didn’t bother to suppress a wicked grin. “Oh, I forgot about that part.” 

“Did you, now?”

Pouting, she glared at the ground. “You can’t blame me for having a crush.” 

“I can’t,” he admitted. “No matter how hard I try. Now, darling, as much as I love you, I think my knees will die if they have to sustain this any more.” 

With a laugh, Hermione rolled her eyes at him and stood up, offering a hand to pull him up. “You are such a big baby.” 

“Bad knees run in the family! It’s not my fault--”

CRASH! 

Both of them turned towards the kitchen, and Severus felt his wand in his hand before he realized he’d even grabbed it. But then there were the babbling sounds that Severus recognized easily as drunken Malfoy. 

“Merlin save me from the Malfoys,” he said. “I told that boy not to accept Minerva’s drinking challenge. And before dinner, too.”

“Oh my god.” Hermione paused, and Severus realized that their hands with the rings were entwined still. “I bet he’s gonna try and propose to Harry, again.” 

“Again? Dear lord. I’m surprised Potter denied him.” 

“Nah, Harry agreed. Both of them were so smashed they don’t remember it.” She grinned at him cheerily, and Severus rolled his eyes and let an amused exhale out of his nose. “Come on. Let’s go see what disaster awaits us.”

***

Hermione wasn’t sure what she expected from their weird little “graduation party,” but it sure as hell wasn’t… well… actually now that she thought about it, this was pretty much right on what she would’ve guessed. 

Harry and Draco had declared themselves engaged. Again. It was the second time that night, they’d already forgotten the first. Minerva was drinking some sort of catnip-mint juleps concoction that Severus had whipped up for her. Ozymewndias had also apparently gotten into the catnip, and was asleep with his head on Minerva’s lap, drooling. Filius was nearby, with a drink of his own. Luna and Filius were deep in discussion about things that Hermione was pretty sure didn’t exist, but Luna (stone cold sober) and Filius (completely trashed) seemed equally convinced of their existence, so that was… good? Ginny was giggling. At anything. And everything. And nothing, too. Hermione was glad she was having a good time. Ginny was also laying with her head on Luna’s thigh, and Luna was absentmindedly braiding and unbraiding her hair. 

As for Hermione herself, she was curled up with apple cider mixed with a light spiced rum, and even better, curled up on top of Severus. He stretched out, lanky and relaxed, as she held her drink in one hand and massaged his scalp with her other hand. 

He was also drinking. And drunk Severus was actually the bit she hadn’t expected. 

“Hermione?” 

“Yes, Sev dearest?”

“You’re so smart.” 

“Thank you, Sev dearest.” 

A moment passed, and she watched his half-lidded expression with amusement. 

“Hermione?”

“Yes, Sev dearest?”

“You’re so pretty.”

“Thank you, Sev dearest.” 

Another moment, as he took another drink. Then another moment. Then, “Hermione?”

“Yes, Sev dearest?”

“I have a crush on you.” 

“I have a crush on you too, Sev dearest.” 

His eyes shut gradually, and his voice became more sleepy. 

“Hermione?”

“Yes, Sev dearest?”

“You’re an angel.” 

“Thank you, Sev dearest.” 

Another pause, and his head slumped forward to lean against hers, so he was murmuring into her hair.

“Hermione?”

“Yes, Sev dearest?”

“You’re so smart.” 

And so it went. 

The adjectives varied. Most of them were smart, pretty, perfect, good, and synonyms thereof, because even drunk Severus was a walking thesaurus. He also repeatedly mentioned that he liked her, and confessed to having ‘a crush’ on her. And being in love with her. He also said things that sort of came from nowhere, like how he wanted to name their daughter Persephone Granger, no Snape. An amusing contrast came when he went from “I think I have a crush on you” to “Persie would be a cute nickname for her.” 

All of this was taken in stride. It was fucking adorable, truthfully. Hermione had been intending for this to be a bit of a stag party for Severus, but he seemed very very happy and comfortable just with her sitting in his lap and combing her fingers through his hair and him complimenting her every minute or so. She was not complaining. 

In fact, quite the opposite. This was maybe the best experience of her life. She was warm and happy and surrounded by her friends and the man she loved was quietly babbling, repeatedly, about how much he loved her. Drunk Ron had always gotten louder and… gropeier, if that was a word. Severus just melted into a puddle with arms and legs that wrapped around her. 

Luna, the only other person left with any presence of mind, would frequently look over at Hermione and the two would exchange what felt like the biggest grins they’d ever produced. 

Finally, after Draco and Harry were a puddle on one couch, Minerva was purring, Filius snoring, Ginny giggling sleepily, and Severus sleep-murmuring to Hermione about how pretty she was, Hermione finally turned to Luna and said what she’d been thinking. 

“This is what home feels like.” 

Luna nodded. “This is what family feels like.” 

Hermione smiled at her, and Luna matched it. 

“I love you, sister,” Hermione decided. 

Luna beamed. “Love you too, sister.”

Hermione revelled in the moment for another bit, and then said, “Also I don’t think I can get up off this couch.”

***

The next morning, when Severus stirred beneath her, the first thing he did was swear softly. “Fuck. I told myself I wasn’t going to get drunk. What horrible shit did I say last night?”

Hermione couldn’t help a little laugh, as she shifted on him to cup his cheek. “Absolutely horrible things,” she said with a big grin, unable to resist teasing him. “You even confessed to having a crush on me, Sev.” 

He relaxed with a tremendous sigh. “I would say ‘I hate you,’ but I think that’d be an entirely futile protest at this point.” 

She smiled, kissing his jawline, the unshaved scruff scratching and tickling. “It was legitimately the cutest thing I’ve ever seen,” she told him, noting how he looked away and flushed so bright she would’ve thought he was angry. “I loved every second of it.” 

He grumbled, adjusting how he was sitting to tuck her against him. “You and your praise-boner. Fine, I’ll turn into an alcoholic and reduce myself into a babbling mess each night for you, is that satisfactory?”

“Hmm, I suppose. I protest your use of ‘turn into,’ I think you’re already slightly alcoholic. Although I certainly don’t mind sober declarations either.” 

To her surprise, he just grumbled again and then turned her face to him. “Demanding. Fine. You are intelligent-” he kissed her, “-beautiful-” another kiss, and another between each of the following descriptors, “-thoughtful, perfect, amazing, creative angel and I am absolutely smitten with you.” He arched a brow at her, her lips still tingling from the soft, loving kisses. “Satisfied?” 

She smirked. “For now.” 

He smiled, making a mocking roll of his eyes and pulling her against him again. “Ever so demanding. Fine, we’ll repeat this little ritual every single night until you get so tired of me finding new, obscure adjectives that you scream at me to shut up.”

“Dunno, Sev, my praise boner is pretty unquenchable.” 

He burst out laughing at that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> funny story, opal is my birthstone & also the alias i typically go by online!   
(this acct has a different alias because I TRUST NO ONE just kidding it's bc i don't want my friends finding my shameful fanfic 😂)


	41. Chapter 41

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! 
> 
> Thank you so much for coming on this journey with me! I hope you enjoyed it. I certainly did! 
> 
> Thanks to:   
\- Zana, for being my lore resource  
\- TattooedWriter and ToniOcean, for betaing  
\- All of you!!!!!
> 
> Full disclosure, I may end up posting an epilogue, if I feel up to it. 
> 
> Love you all, and thanks again! 💚

Hermione had thought she would die the day that Ginny, Jean, and Draco took her on a caffeine-and-chocolate fueled rampage to muggle bridal stores and boutiques, and she had sent several patronus missives to Severus lamenting that she would never make it to the wedding if they made her try on yet another bloody fucking dress. And they weren’t even done: Hermione had insisted that the same sisters who made her infamous Ministry Ball statement gown now make her wedding dress, so really they were just looking for ideas. 

Somehow, she survived. Jean insisted on taking them to all three meals, saying she needed to treat her “daughter, soon-to-be daughter, and son-in-law.” Hermione had mentioned Ginny’s parents’ split support of her, and Jean insisted she was not about to leave a friend of her daughter high and dry, especially not after her inability to help the past few years.

Honestly, Hermione didn’t even know what she wanted her dress to be vaguely themed around until lunchtime, when Ginny just shrugged over her McDonald’s hamburger and said, “What if you just take ‘Gryffindor Princess’ and run with it?”

Hermione squinted. “Gryffins have feathers. Are you suggesting feathers?”

“It’s brilliant!” Draco burst from his chair, earning glances from a few surlier patrons of the food court before he calmed down and leaned in, whispering with glee. “Skeeter always tries to call you a harpy, right? Harpies have feathers. And hell, you’re marrying into House Prince. It all fits. Think of it this way, Hermione: Swan Lake.” 

“That’s my favorite ballet!” chirped Jean, immediately derailing conversation for the next five minutes. 

It took Hermione a while to come around to the idea of feathers, and even then, she didn’t like the concept of actual feathers on a wedding gown. It felt too… prom. Instead, her mother found this beautifully beaded dress with patterns that seemed to flow and curl just as feathers did, which they took pictures of for inspiration. 

Later that week, she brought the photos to the Erglemay sisters. Once she’d convened with the Erglemay sisters, Hermione brought them to meet with Severus, Minerva, Filius, Poppy, Vector, Harry, Draco, Ginny, Luna, Neville, and her parents at Grimmauld Place. Hermione was surprised that the sisters were most impressed with, of all the star-studded crowd, her parents--apparently they were reminded of their own parents, and couldn’t stop gushing over Hermione. It made her feel a little weird, having her parents, Harry, and the sisters brag about each side of her life. And then Severus joined in, so she just had to stop it. 

Hermione felt like she was back on the warpath, planning their next Horcrux hunt, but nope. Just her wedding. Jobs were assigned: Minerva would be officiating; Filius would be in charge of charms design; Ginny and Draco were in charge of decoration; the Hogwarts elves were climbing over each other to volunteer their services for the catering. (Several elves appeared at Grimmauld Place during the meeting, just to offer their services.) The wedding parties were also designated: Harry would be Hermione’s Wizard of Honor, with Ginny, Luna, and Neville as the rest of her party. Draco would be Severus’ Wizard of Honor, with Filius, Poppy, and Vector as the rest of his party. Ozymewndias was flower tiger. When it was dinnertime, Hermione’s parents would also join the wedding party at the head table, and a seat would be left empty--for an _old friend._

The next item of business was how to deal with the press. The wedding would be held in a Ministry ballroom in Diagon, with the Grangers given special permission to attend. That meant that the instant they left the ballroom, it’d be guaranteed that the press would be on them for pictures, which meant they needed a procedure. Ozymewndias was designated anti-intruder system, but once they were out, they would be downright posing for pictures. Severus had suggested his idea, and everyone agreed with the idea that it was time to make another statement. 

***

The big day. 

Hermione was freaking out. 

In the bridal preparation rooms, she was on her thirty-second copy of her “things to double check” checklist when Harry grabbed her by one arm, and Ginny grabbed the other. 

“Look, sis, I know I’m your Best Wizard, but I’m deputizing Gin,” Harry began. “You absolutely need someone to keep you grounded right now. This will be fine, I promise.”

She could feel one of her eyes twitching from stress as Ginny yanked away the clipboard she was using and banished it. “There’s just… so much to worry about, Harry,” she said. “I mean, what if he doesn’t like me? What if I trip? What if--”

“I swear to Merlin I’ll dose you with calming draught,” Harry said. “You’re no longer allowed to worry. That’s an order. I’m in charge now. You just get to think about how you’re gonna spend the rest of your life with a man you absolutely fucking adore, who’s saved your life just as many times as you’ve saved his, and you get to know that this day is for you two and that’s it.”

Taking a shuddering breath, Hermione nodded and did her best to swallow her panic tears. “I know. I just… I want it to be perfect.” 

“It will be perfect,” Ginny said. She grabbed both Hermione’s arms, squaring up with her. “It will go fucking perfectly, because you are getting married to someone that _deserves_ you, and someone that loves you, and nothing about the fucking decor or carpet or food matters because we’re all here for the _two of you,_ not the fucking _doilies._ As long as you two are happy and in love, this thing is perfect. Because that’s all it’s about. You and Severus, and your love.” 

“Yeah, what Ginny said,” Harry seconded, eloquently.

“Don’t worry, your dad’s giving an identical pep talk to Severus right now.” Ginny giggled a little, and Hermione managed to join her. 

It felt like her brain was an overflowing cauldron of hormones. Bursting into tears, she grabbed both of them tightly in a hug. Through her sniffles, she managed, “Thank you. I love you both so, so much.” 

“Love you too,” Harry said. “Now, let’s get you ready. We’ve got ten minutes until the ceremony begins.” 

“Oh sweet holy fuck.” 

“So check yourself over in the mirror.” Ginny’s instructions were gentle as she turned Hermione to face the mirror. “And make sure everything’s okay.”

Hermione looked herself over. Her dress was a trumpet silhouette, with a Queen Anne neckline. Pearls trailed down her otherwise bare back in elegant curves, tracing an abstract pattern like a feather. The front of the dress had similar patterns, which swirled together at her waistline before trailing down the train of the dress like an explosion of shimmer. She wore one opera glove, her other arm bare. 

She was very glad that the Erglemay sisters had managed to pull off a Swan Lake inspired dress without making her look like a fucking budgie, or one of those chickens with the ridiculous head feathers that looked like they’d just gone through their third divorce. 

Also, she was wearing a tiara. She suggested maybe it was too much, but then Draco and Ginny reminded her that this was a wizarding wedding, and tiaras were all the rage. She’d been grumbling about it one night, when Severus said he had an idea. Draco practically exploded on the spot, and keened with excitement when he saw what Severus was scribbling on a piece of paper. Without any further consultation, it was sent off to the Erglemays. 

Of course, it turned out perfectly. Hermione’s tiara was a circular halo of pearls, enchanted to hover around her head. Severus had just muttered something about angels.

Speaking of Severus, she was about to get married.

It felt like ten heartbeats and ten years simultaneously. Hermione had never experienced such an aggressive dilation and compression of time. She felt like she’d barely taken a breath before suddenly it was time for her to step into the chapel. 

Her father was at one arm, her mother at her other. Hermione offered them quick, nervous smiles before turning ahead. 

Severus was standing there. Thank fuck. Hermione’s primary emotion before seeing him had been panic, even though she knew that Minerva would probably drag him back by the tonsils if he tried to get cold feet. A second after the relief hit her, Hermione realized that she’d never seen him gaping in open awe before, and it was a strange feeling indeed to have him looking so wowed by her.

He also looked… perfect. She hadn’t ever seen him dressed this nicely before. A simple, tailored tailcoat, emerald cravat, and a single white glove on his right hand. He did look like a Prince, actually. Prince Not-So-Charming-Until-You-Got-To-Know-Him-After-Several-Years-Of-Verbal-Abuse-And-Wartime-Trauma-Caused-By-A-Couple-Megalomaniacal-Assholes. Also a Prince who was definitely still gaping at her. (She wasn’t complaining.)

Luna was just coming to a halt in her position in the bridal party. Flower petals shimmered on the ground. They were supposed to be roses, but Hermione had known that Luna would pick a good flower for such a union, and she was unsurprised to see king proteas, gladiolus, and white chrysanthemums mixed in. Rebirth, strength of character, remembrance, truth and loyalty: all utterly appropriate. 

The wedding parties were dressed in formal robes, deep velvet colors corresponding with their Hogwarts houses. Ozymewndias had been given a bowtie for the occasion, and someone (probably Luna) had also put a flower crown on the great tiger-kneazle. He was positively preening. 

Hermione took a deep breath, which was difficult--she felt suddenly as if she were a thin, nearly-decayed leaf, and her heartbeat was pushing vast swells of blood and adrenaline through insufficient vasculature. She focused on walking forward. The dress was enchanted to keep out from underfoot, and the runner enchanted to stay on the ground, and the shoes enchanted to help her keep her balance, and Hermione still felt like she would tip over at any moment. 

And then she was… at the altar. 

Minerva beamed down at her like a radiant, scotch-fueled sun. Hermione glanced over to Severus, and found him gently pinching one of his hands with the other. She reached out and took a hand, so he would stop. 

The warmth of his hand in hers was precisely what she needed to anchor herself through the vows. Minerva had practiced the vows at the rehearsal, but asked that her speech be left a surprise, so Hermione swallowed her nervousness and, once more, put her trust in Minerva McGonagall. She turned to face Severus fully, his actions mirroring her own, and took her other hand in hers. 

“There is an oft-referenced thought experiment in philosophy,” Minerva began, and Hermione had to bite her lip to stop her laugh as Severus’ eyebrow shot upwards. Minerva gave him a smirk, and continued unbothered. “What happens when an unstoppable force meets immovable object? Friends, family, we now see the answer is _they get married.”_

The smattering of laughter from the wedding parties and audience made Hermione roll her eyes, mostly because she couldn’t deny it. 

“All too soon, we will open those doors and step out into a world which will hyperfocus on the pasts of these two wonderful people, and swoon at the societal norms they dare to break. While I could go on at length about their bravery and conviction in the face of that backlash, I would rather leave that outside. These two are admirable and beloved-” Severus’ eyebrow shot up again here “-as people, not as public figures or any such codswallop. And we come together today to celebrate them as people.

“I’m not sure many people would, before the last year, call Severus Snape heroic.” Minerva turned to smile at Severus, and Hermione realized with a growing thankful warmth that the woman’s look was one of pure maternal love. “But I cannot think of a better descriptor now.”

There was a murmur of approval from the audience, and a smattering of applause from the wedding party and some of the audience.

Severus glanced down at the floor, and Hermione realized that he was tearing up. She squeezed his hands, resisting the urge to pull him into a hug--for now, at least. She would have no shame breaking protocol if he needed support. He offered her a quick smile of reassurance as Minerva continued.

“He faced the entire world, made himself the villain, and worked tirelessly in the single-minded pursuit of a goal, with such conviction that he could look the century’s greatest villain in the eyes and lie. He is, truly, the bravest man I know. Once he decides on a goal, Severus is indefatigable. And I have never been prouder than to see him flourish after his liberation from both of the forces keeping him from being himself.”

Severus bowed his head, and Hermione watched his face carefully. He didn’t look upset. He looked… bewildered? Was that the right word? Perhaps humbled would be more accurate. She squeezed his hands again.

Looking towards the audience, Minerva went on, “In the northern islands, you can find these magnificent spurs of untamed rock that the ocean crashes itself against. For millennia, waves which would splinter the greatest vessels of man and drown the strongest beasts of nature have thrown themselves against these rocks. And yet the stones remain untamed.” 

Minerva turned her beaming gaze to Hermione. “When I met her eight years ago, I did not realize that Hermione Granger would become the rock upon which a world would be broken.”

At this, there was a shuffling in the wedding party, as Harry and Ginny began to nod emphatically. More applause followed, but died down as Minerva continued. “I doubt anyone could’ve seen it at that point. But for the past eight years, I’ve had the pleasure of watching her systematically weather and destroy anything that stood in her way, be it monster, miscreant…” 

Draco finished, “Or Malfoy.” 

Hermione couldn’t help the bewildered laugh that broke from her, and apparently neither could the audience. Severus glanced up and caught her gaze, his eyes twinkling as he shook with silent chuckles. As the laughter died down again, Severus turned to Minerva. “Minnie, are you implying my wife is the only one with the _stones_ to stand up to me?”

Minerva replied with a shit-eating grin as the hall filled with laughter again. “That depends,” she said. “Do you, Severus Snape, take Hermione Granger to be your lawfully wedded wife, through sickness, health, megalomaniacal wizards, large reptiles, undead armies, etcetera, etcetera?”

This was not how they’d planned it. But Hermione couldn’t deny that it was even more perfect than anything could be planned. Severus seemed equally surprised, but he responded with an indignant blink. “I do. _Obviously.”_

“And do you, Hermione Granger, take Severus Snape to be your lawfully wedded husband, through sickness, health, camping trips, more large reptiles, snake attacks, self-immolation, etcetera, etcetera?”

“I do,” Hermione replied, her voice firm. Somewhere in the speech, her shaking had subsided. Then, with a glance at Severus, she added, _“Obviously.” _

Minerva’s smile became even wider, if that was at all possible. “Then it is my pleasure and honor to pronounce the two of you wife and husband, because we all know that’s how it truly works. You may now kiss.” 

Hermione certainly did not need to be told twice. She wrapped her arms around Severus’ neck and practically launched herself up to kiss him with reckless abandon, ignoring his startled noises as she melted into the bliss of his embrace, his touch. It was only after she broke it that she realized he’d picked her up and twirled her, and everyone was cheering, and then--

The doors exploded open. Ronald Weasley stood there, with wand raised towards her and Severus. “I OBJECT!” 

Hermione froze. Was she supposed to be afraid? No. She was just pissed. How fucking dare he. The room was in confusion--

\--something was shooting towards Ron like a bolt from Zeus himself, and then--

Hermione had never realized tigers could run _that fast._

There was a crunch, splinters went everywhere, and Ron was screaming. 

Ozymewndias had bowled Ron clean over--a couple times--and was now seated on the boy’s chest, spitting up fragments of wand. As Oz tried to get the splinters out of his mouth, Hermione was reminded of when her past cats had gotten their tongues stuck on fuzz. With that done, the tiger chuffed and placed one massive paw daintily right above Ron’s crotch, before beginning to knead. His claws extended visibly with each motion, digging into Ron’s pants.

The room was silent for a moment longer, until Draco let out a long, melodramatic sigh, and said, “He couldn’t even be on-time for a wedding he’s crashing.” 

While the audience broke into laughter, Hermione turned to Severus and searched his face, her arms still wrapped around his neck. “I’m so sorry, Sev. Is… is it all ruined?”

He blinked at her. “God, no,” he said. “Are you kidding? This is the best day of my life. I’m married to you, everyone is having a great time, some dickweed’s on the floor getting his precious bits massaged by tiger claws, and I’m married to you. Tom could pop back up and say we missed a couple of horcruxes, and I’d still consider this day the most wonderful I’ve ever had.”

“You say the cutest things,” Hermione said as she stood on her tiptoes for another kiss. She was distantly aware of cheering and other noises of celebration from the audience. 

“No I don’t,” he said after they broke apart. “Now, can we go eat cake before you give Skeeter the middle finger?”

“See? _Cutest_ things.”

***

Hermione didn’t know the last time she’d had such fun. While the day was supposed to be about her and Sev, she really wanted it to be a good time for everyone, and that seemed to be happening. Severus was teaching her father swing dancing--which was the absolute cutest shit ever--Harry had been hit in the face by the bouquet during the bouquet toss (Hermione didn’t have a bouquet, but Ginny had shoved a floral arrangement in her hands), and Minerva and her mother were going shot for shot over cake slices. Ron was forced to watch all of it from his position beneath a tiger’s bum. The tiger got cake, and he did not. 

When it was time for her and Severus to head off, the wedding party assembled by the door. 

“We all ready?” Hermione asked. 

Nods from the party. Minerva looked like she was ready to burn down the Daily Prophet. 

“Alright,” Hermione murmured, and turned to Severus, undoing his cufflink and rolling up his sleeve with careful fingers. She glanced up at him, and found him watching her hands. “You ready?”

“Always.” 

She nodded, and took his bare hand in hers. Their wedding rings clinked together, and he squeezed her hand. 

Then they stepped out, husband and wife, flanked by their wedding party, to the flashes of cameras and roar of the crowd. Hermione raised their clasped hands to the sky, looking up at the image of their union. The wedding bands flashed in the sunlight, and the word MUDBLOOD was clearly legible next to the skull and snake of the Dark Mark, and then she couldn’t see either, because Severus was pulling her against him for a kiss. His hand released from hers to pick her up. She buried both her hands in his hair as he spun her around, and they apparated away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also btw i've only read like the first 4 harry potter books, years ago, and i remember nothing from them


End file.
